Growing Up
by Risou
Summary: "And I'd told you a million times captain, there's no better time than now." So a bunch of boys shifted from one state to another, ready to uphold global security. Of which we put the highlights on the renowned Alpha Team of which, a comforting spotlight on their captain and the soon-to-join newcomer. A process of growing and committing, bonding. Or something like that. Chris/Piers
1. Guide 00: Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

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_So I am going to keep my word to write a Chris and Piers fiction. (I know I started too early but hey, I'm on a writing spree now so I suppose, why not?) Personally a touching note to my friend, he's a big 'I-need-to-love-him' fan of Piers: I hope this fiction touches you in a brighter light, helps you bear with the burn of reality. Another to my awesome girl, a Macauley fan and lastly of course, an anonymous wife of the deceased Albert Wesker who has insistently adopted Piers in her own stubbornness, and words, "He needs to be loved!" So here I am, loving._

_While I enjoy every author's take on the relationship between Chris and Piers, here's my take before Edonia. I think everyone deserves to have a slice of heaven while everyone's still alive and kicking asses, raving in parties and leisure like the ordinary. We need to lighten up a little and I hope this little fiction can make anybody's day a happy day._

_And so for the adoration of the Alpha Boys I have been thinking about, I present "Growing Up"._

_If you can't take man on man, then you must have missed my summary._

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**Growing Up**

**by ****Seraph Wes W.**

_**- For the strength to fight for a better tomorrow, protect the lives of loved ones, commit to a relationship greater than love, sacrifice for the greater good, heal the souls of the broken bones and jumpstart away - **_

_"Oh I'm starting to believe that this could be the start of something good"  
— Daughtry, Start of Something Good_

"Will that be all? The boys are ready to unload and heat up the arena with these new babies. Captain's waiting at the hangar to debrief us and he suggests that you should join us too, 'mam."

Stepping out of the C-5 Galaxy is the all-too-famous Jill Valentine, the representative of the US division of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, codename B.S.A.A.. She has been put in charge to oversee the entire exchange program ever since Command has given word to commence the European division. Taking first breath of Lincoln, Jill clutches her furred trench coat tightly as she follows closely behind her local navigator, Marco is his name. When the man she is about to meet insists she put on something warm upon arrival, she thought the brute was overreacting to the local weather. She is right about now thankful that she ever heeded his advice, which she often does not. Arizona was perfectly snuggly the last eight hours she was there before she boarded the plane ride over whereas Lincoln is as deadly cold as Portland ever was the last she remembered after her internal transfer. Promptly following her navigator, she suddenly recalls a Marco back in the Portland base camp who was only a private about a year or so ago. The one with her right now is fitfully branded as a specialist.

"Marco huh? Is it Marco Rose?" Jill peels her curiosity.

"Yes 'mam. I was under your guidance about a year ago back at home camp. You were the toughest woman I've ever met, and the best mentor at boot." Marco responds humbly, feeling a sense of recognition that she even remembers him. "I'm honored that you remembered me, 'mam."

Jill smiles, "I've not known many Marcos. Especially not one who's exemplary good with explosives."

Marco laughs inwardly, feeling a little shy to hear his achievement from another prestigious upper. It has been a few short months since his transfer with the first chosen batch of soldiers to set up base in Lincoln. The weather has been grilling them under training, many of which have taken ill due to its frequent changes. Only a handful has yet to step foot in the infirmary, which the boys are more than grateful that the captain insisted to have the facility set up on first priority basis. It has also been rumored that the captain is one of the few who has survived the initial cold outbreak, a tough man on the outside as well as the inside.

"Here we are. There's captain."

Warm thrusts of heated ventilation swiveled through the hangar, perhaps the residue of the recently used engine buzzing in the background as well. Jill finds a sense of familiarity to the surrounding, a resemblance to the first day she experienced when she first joined B.S.A.A.. She sees her friendly correspondent waving an arm from afar, making quick talk as he dismisses his subordinate and approaches her. Noticing that his captain is making his way over, Marco subtly salutes and takes his departure, rounding up the fresh recruits on the other side of the hangar for their tour around base camp. Day one, getting familiar to the surroundings and memorizing the out-of-bounds zones more importantly. The new boys in town look thrilled, pin sharp focused and ready to take down any zombie apocalypse.

It is a bustling day at the European branch.

"Jill! Glad you made it." A quick word and the man quickly flails two arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace since a long time.

"Now, now you big old bear. I can't quite deny that you're making me feeling very comfortable right now." Jill teases, returning the gesture with two hands to the half of his back—though she isn't quite joking on the comfortable part.

"Three months in the making and the first thing you do is flirt with me? It's tall sign you missed me that much, huh?" The captain laughs, counter-responding to his good old friend.

"Silly bear, I didn't know you enjoyed hibernating in this godforsaken weather. It's a good and rare thing that I'd listened to your advice this time." The female counterpart slowly loses her hold, both returning to their formal standing on all eyes.

"That's a first. I know how much you hated the cold."

"Yeah, you can count on that. C'mon, there's another reason why I'm here apart from making sure the babies didn't get stolen by some flying zombies."

"No shit. Flying zombies are the worst to deal with. Remember that time when we're in Africa they tried to overhaul our runway and I had such a hard time—" the captain finds it hard to suppress a silent grin loudly flashing all over his face. The aftermath of that particular incident has walked a mile in the Hall of Shame for the zombies. Although it was never a matter to jerk around when it comes to global security, that one served pretty much as an after-dinner joke amongst the soldiers for a good period of time. B.S.A.A. 1 : Zombies 0.

"Chris," Jill sternly holds her tone, "I'm warning you. Don't get me started on—"

"—Right! How about my office, Jilly?" The pet name always works. Always.

Jill observes the medals, code of honor plaques mounted on walls and the inevitable mountain of paperwork left on Chris' table after entering the pale green office for the first time. Yup, this is Chris all right. Old habits just don't die even after one and a half decade later. Paperwork is definitely not his forte even though marked priority one on his to-do list. The snippets of sticky notes taping on his whiteboard and table corners are far too arrestive to be ignored.

"Aren't you going to get through with any of those paperwork?" Jill asks, removing the thick outer layer as she hangs it on the clothes stand right behind the door.

"I did plan to do them today before you arrive. But how can I waste your precious time doing these paperwork while you're in town?" Chris defends, which he knows he could be digging his own grave at this very moment.

"Don't try to makeshift for the excuse you've just used, Chris. We all know by now that you are never once keen with paperwork. Not in Raccoon, not in Portland and I can most certainly see not here either." Breathing, she allows the rising temper to simmer stably before pulling out a brown folder from her carrier. "Which is why, I'm here offering a solution."

Chris watches Jill as she pulls a chair out across his desk, which he has already comfortably settled in, slapping the document over his stack of overdue reports that were yet to be tucked, filed, kept, torn, shredded or done-something-to-it away. Instinctively, the captain retrieves the parchment papers hidden in the foreign container, eyes sweeping through the contents briefly before he dumps the intel back on his messy table.

"What's this?"

"Project Rehabilitation. Well that's what I'll call it if it weren't Command's decision to send him in." Jill crosses a leg over her thigh, the tip of her knee-length boot caressing the footboard of the captain's covered legged desk.

"Erm, well in that case… what is my position here exactly?" Bewildered, Chris looks at the profile once more, "I mean, just look at his records. He's a clean slate of disciplinary action and pragmatic behavior. He doesn't need to be under anybody, he should be leading somebody by now and that is giving credit where it's dued."

"Yes, I understand his records are quite intimidating for his age but nobody's perfect." Leaning forward, Jill pinpoints a remark handwritten by one of the majors in Command, evaluating the candidate's personality. "You should perhaps take a closer look at this portion. It's the reason why we need you, Chris."

Though still a little lost on the insinuation for the whole matter, patient granted, Chris slides up his chair with his elbows pressed against the surface of the processed trees as he reads the content Jill pointed out. She has a point; the boy lacked the most important aspect for a leader indeed.

"… Lone wolf, prefers to be stationed alone, operates solo. First Lieutenant Williamsburg reports that candidate is rarely seen building rapport with his platoon. Personal activities on camp are strictly alone and out of sight. Fellow soldiers are unable to provide any testimony regarding the candidate and they are disinterested to make contact with candidate due to his extraordinary record. For that, candidate is also often easily mistaken for a proud, overbearing and unfeeling person due to his precise nitpicking—by pointing out the flaws and mistakes of anybody who has displayed incorrect activity. Lt. Williamsburg strongly believes that the candidate possesses a great amount of talent that will be beneficial to the B.S.A.A. in years to come but rectification to his closed-up persona must be corrected."

Chris blankly looks at Jill once he finished reading the extended information. It is never easy dealing with closed-up bottled-down characters. In this case, the situation seems exceptionally bad since this one has already made his way into the invisible black book of records privately summed up by the soldiers themselves. Taking a second look at his photo, Chris swears if this boy was handled by the female counterparts in the B.S.A.A., his current situation would have made a big turn for port and steer smooth-sailing all the way.

"Well, Chris?" Jill breaks the silence, waiting to hear what her old partner has to say.

"I'm assuming Command is approaching for my help because the US division has nowhere to use such a talented man," Chris begins his analysis, one by one.

Jill nods.

"The tension between him and the rest of the platoon must have been thick, not that it matters to him anyways. He's there to start and finish the job. He doesn't look like he cares about anyone else there is out there as well."

She nods again, but promptly adding, "Well, it's not entirely true that he cares for no one at all." Chris eyes a suspicious look back at her.

"When asked upon his initial interview, it was recorded that he has a role model whom he looks up to very much. This person is none other than the famous celebrity of the B.S.A.A., Captain Chris Redfield." Jill says it with such vigor that even Chris has to stifle a laugh at her impersonation of a ring announcer. But he swore he could have second guess that coming his way, something remotely relating to him otherwise Command couldn't have sent someone to fly four thousand miles just to oversee some slabs of metals in the shape of APCs or so. Or at least they could send someone less important than Jill Valentine.

"So… I'm supposed to babysit him?" Chris sighs, sending obvious signals that he is not keen on the nanny job.

"Look Chris, we wouldn't have asked for you if we could give him help elsewhere. In terms of leadership and guidance, you're the perfect fit for the job. Everyone here in the European branch is thrilled to be under your command. You have been building trust and rapport between teams and that is exactly what we need right now. The boy needs a new environment, somewhere completely unbiased to start afresh. So if we are going to fix this character of his, we need the best man on the job to give him the best guidance. You."

Chris sighs again. This is precisely the reason why they sent Jill on the job. Other than the fact that Chris knows she is a master at debating and reasoning but most importantly, Command knows he rarely rejects anything from Jill. Make that never reject anything from her.

"I swear to God, sometimes I really hate you Jilly."

Jill smirks, closing the topic, "So we have a deal?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever it takes to help him, right?" Chris grumbles, he sure hopes his boys are ready to accept a new ace on the team, someone harder on the books than he is.

"Oh c'mon Chris. The other reason I think he's perfect here is because he'll make sure you keep your work done on time. Williamsburg personally vouched for it. The boy's as punctual as a rooster at daybreak." The chuckling hidden behind her hand makes it obvious that that is more of a dig than a compliment.

"Right," sarcasm filling the air, the captain's eyes rolling a little, "Guess we're babysitting each other. How great." Chris presses the pads of his thumb and index finger into the corner ducts of his eyes, shaking the reluctance off to try to graciously accept the situation. It didn't really help much.

Therefore regaining attention, he collects the information together as he tucks them away into the folder it came with. Then carefully, he settles it on the top of his tray as he continues to sweep the remains of the other paperwork to the side of his desk, revealing the clean glass top resting on the wooden furniture. He is taking minimum time to adjust to the new situation, not too sure if he is really up for the job in fact. If there is any nitpicking to be done, his latency is probably the first on the newcomer's goddamn list. Like Jill said.

Damn it Jill.

"So, when is he coming?"

Grinning, Jill withdraws a phone from her jeans and taps on a key, connecting, "Send him in."

"Great. What did I bother trying to reject the offer when he's already here?" Chris sighs a third time. That is just how Command rolls.

"You'll like him, Chris. Trust me." As much as she tries to reassure the captain, the latter isn't biting it. "He's not that bad. I can see that much from our little talk on the plane ride here. He's just really sh—"

The door swings open. A fully suited up pristine soldier with a noticeable trendy Armani haircut stood by the door before his escort salutes and leaves him there. All eyes on the prize, Chris is surprised that the boy looks better than his photograph did. Ladies in Foxtrot are gonna love him.

"May I introduce to you, Captain Chris Redfield." Jill points out as she stands up from her seat, folding a hand out introducing the captain who politely stands up too.

Quickly hiding his state of surprise in a matter of split seconds, the boy takes a few steps forward as he enters the room, a hand up to his brows saluting. He almost couldn't believe his eyes.

"Piers Nivans reporting, sir."

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Reviews are definitely a plus.


	2. Guide 01: Deception

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

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_I hope I delivered this start right. I hope. _

_There's a lot of character build up that I can focus on but it's a little spiraling out of hand when I try to fix the background characters up. There's a little trouble... not something I won't overcome in due time. But first things first, I hope the conversations are panning out right._

_Lastly before you proceed, just a major thanks to all the reviews and followers out there. The moral support is endearing._

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_"This clock never seemed so alive"_  
_— Lifehouse, You and Me_

It has been exactly one month since Piers Nivans has become acquainted with the topside of the double bunk bed he has called home to the shared bunk amongst the Alpha team. Base camp in Europe is nothing like in Arizona, apart from the obvious weather strain. People here possess a different level of enthusiasm than that of those in the North America division. Participation is active and everyone vies for any piece of the ongoing action. Crisp responses from the training on field are loud and clear, signs of new recruits eager to join the cause. Even the ladies here are strutting their stuff, not allowing any chance to laze. It is therefore unanimously conclusive that if people are considered good back in Arizona, then people here are downright spectacular.

Or maybe it may just be the starting phase. Rigor sometimes dies faster than expected. Piers doesn't like to be disappointed.

He constantly tells himself to keep a neutral mind with expectations. That is, of course, easier said than done coming from a family history of military men. His father has expectations of him, his grandfather has expectations of him and probably the line is going to go down the same way. It keeps him in tiptop shape, ahead of his game. Most people would think it is too stressful to grow up in such a background, but the young sniper didn't mind. In fact, he is thankful for it. Although the outlook may or may not have given him the best of his adolescent phase, he chooses to see the good out of it. Trading social skills, he gained academically and athletically wise. His mother often worries about him being too closed up unlike his brother but he prefers it this way, honing skills and polishing them.

Nevertheless, it is safe to say that not many appreciated his perfectionism. It has rubbed in a significant number of conflicts and arguments with people who had qualms with it—though that doesn't stop him from correcting their mistakes. He knows he is not very welcomed back in Arizona… not that he minds it that way either. There is no need to hide the truth, he prefers to work alone than having to cover for other people. If he had to work with people who aren't good at producing results, then the lesser they keep in touch the better. He hadn't join the cause because he 'couldn't find a decent job out there', he came for a reason: to protect the future.

Just like Captain Redfield did.

Just like the acclaimed hero did when he put Albert Wesker down: for a future without fear.

He lives his mind to it.

Now that he is under his command, his leadership, Piers couldn't have asked for more. He knows he is in the right hands this time. Not some lowball sack of shit that wasted time sleazing around with no sense of direction. He sure hopes Jill cleaned up that piece of trash after he left, B.S.A.A. shouldn't have wasted resources on someone like that. They needed someone tough-minded, strong-willed and dependable. Someone who is disciplined, controlled, earnest, and not seen goof-balling around every three seconds when there is time to spare. Williamsburg certainly lived up to the low-balling; Piers couldn't stand his impractical jokes on standby every other lunch. That guy is just the kind that he wants to steer all out of his way.

But Captain Redfield won't be. That guy's a legend.

When he mentioned the transfer to his family, there were doubts if it was a wise decision to be dispatched out of the States. His father, being all hot American-blooded, did not like the idea of his son leaving to protect another continent instead of their own. As for his brother however, he chooses to defend that global security is needed everywhere and that Piers will do fine as long as he is in the hands of the B.S.A.A. His mother is just crying buckets, raising a disagreement only because she is unwilling to stay too far apart from her loving son.

Although eventually Piers accepted the offer to transfer graciously, needless to say he had been nervous about who might his next commanding officer be. Therefore, when confirmation hit the decks on day one and as old as his twenty-three years of age may be, there is no use denying just how thrilled he felt to be serving under the man who saved the world.

The source of his motivation. The role model. A man he looks up so much to…

Not before it all started to crash just a few days ago.

* * *

"Seen the hotshot in town yet?" Andy grabs the food tray from the shelf as he walks down the aisle to pick his choices for the day. But when the optional menu decides to serve seafood pasta delight today, he immediately sticks to his usual routine because god can't help him if he hated pasta right to the core. There is just something about eating flour in long and thin strands that irks him beyond belief.

"You mean the infamous _BOAT _of the B.S.A.A.? That's, what the girls at Foxtrot been callin' him." Carl compliments, lethargically dragging his own tray over the display case once Andy was done.

The two Alpha boys join Marco and Ben at the table once they were done at the counter. It is a daily sight, the leading young men of Alpha sitting together during the lunch hour. A not-so-secret sorority usually sits parallel to gossip about them, most being how talented these men are to enlist to Alpha despite their young age. The boys enjoy the solo spotlight once in a while, but is actually mostly seen fooling around with the other older recruits from Bravo and Charlie, taking a small breather from their day-to-day intense training. Boys will always be boys.

"What's with the nickname?" Marco ponders, illustrating a cocky smile as he puts a mouthful of the seafood pasta in his mouth, earning a full-blown disgusted look from Andy.

"Girls. Only they are capable of coming up with a nickname like the _'Beast Of the Alpha Team'_," Ben replies, eyes rolling in every single direction possible.

"Guess he's climbing up the popularity chart really fast, huh? Young, good-looking, aced…" Carl stops at the poultry he has been working on for a drink before he continues, "you'd heard his records yet?"

"Gold star," Andy follows up immediately, he's been dying to get to this topic ever since he has caught wind of it, "Kid's a fuckin' A."

"A for Alpha," Marco laughs, pointing a fork at Andy who curses at the sight of the twirled pasta on his fork.

There is a soft chuckle coming from the other two who tried hard to forestall a laugh. Apparently Andy's reaction towards pasta has become the highlights of today's lunch. They could have sworn every time Marco puts the creamed noodles in his mouth, Andy's face twitches in the most ridiculous manner they have ever seen in their lives. Just the exaggerated response alone is enough to make them both regret not choosing the seafood delight today. Marco is having fun of his life teasing the Alphan, who is constantly questioning why he is able to consume something that is slimy and slippery in his mouth like that. Then after some intervals of silent digestion, the description came after has gone so completely off the track that Marco gave up eating and concentrates on laughing instead.

"Here he comes," comes a comment from Carl who somehow managed to finish his food amidst the commotion when he caught sight of _BOAT_ entering the cafeteria. The other Alphans are too engrossed with their meals to notice the newcomer's arrival but Carl, being one who likes him more than the other three probably did, pays good notice and signals to the boy, "Piers! Over here!"

Piers, being startled by the outburst of his name, turns around and finds a warm welcome from Carl who waved a hand at him, calling him over to their seat. He takes the warm gesture to heart and decides he should join them, opting for the seafood delight for the lack of a good appetite for hard meat. There are certain matters that he wants to check with the senior batch as well, hard issues that he is not made known of and most certainly unexpectant of it. It wavers the confidence he had built since day one in Europe, more than he thought possible. He is just going to probe a little bit, hopeful it doesn't end up like salt scattered over fresh wound.

"Oh god, another seafood pasta," is Andy's way of welcoming Piers to the table, earning a discomfort flashing over the newcomer's face and the roar of laughter from Marco.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't mind him. He's getting the flutterbies at pasta," Marco tries to calm down from the high, noticeably pulling his chair to the side to allow some space for the freshman to settle in. Andy, in return gives the tech specialist his fourth finger, in replacement of his third for the courtesy of them being in front of the newcomer. The Alphans, other than Piers, gawk at the ridiculous hand sign before exploding into fits of uncontrolled manic laughter again. Piers however, not quite following the trend, looks at his teammates for the briefest moment before starting on his food.

"Sorry 'bout that, it's not everyday we get to see Andy being a complete retard over here," Carl explains, wiping the tears wetting the corner of his eyes.

"Sure," Piers pokes his food a little before he puts it down his throat, not feeling quite hungry. He stops periodically for sips of the coffee he took from the dispenser, an occasional sigh slipping quietly but nothing that Carl wouldn't miss since he is sitting beside him.

"Food not quite your taste? You'll get used to it."

Piers keeps the silence, food isn't really the problem.

"What's wrong? Something botherin' you?" Andy asks casually, finishing his abnormal mixture of banana, celery and watermelon fruit juice.

When Piers looks up, he sees some surprising concerned eyes from the Alphans that he has to quip an instant response, "Nothing that's not bothering the captain."

"Let me guess, you tried to paper-shake him?" Ben says it with an air of confidence that left Piers nodding distastefully. When the others acknowledge Piers' troubles, they only shake their heads in response. What they wear on their faces is but a sign of defeat. The kind of defeat that seems like it has been going on since forever and no one can do a damn thing about it, though the newcomer hopes otherwise. In fact, this issue is not something Piers has expected at all. Not from the captain, that is.

"If there's one thing the capin's really good at ducking, that would be paperwork," Andy sizes up.

"Cut yourself some slack, you ain't goin' anywhere with the captain like that," Marco begins, "it's not like you're babysitting the captain right?"

Piers chokes on a piece of prawn on the pasta and decides that is the last he is going to take for lunch. He remembers the day that Jill Valentine announces that he will become the captain's right hand man. Yes, right hand man.

_"You will be assisting Captain Redfield in all aspect of his work," Jill's snide is purposefully retained in her tone as the newcomer nods in agreement, barely aware of anything so to speak. Grinning to herself, not that Chris missed it, she then turns back to Piers, shifting responsibility onto his shoulders, paraphrasing, "We will be looking forward to the exemplary performance you've shown in Arizona similarly here in Lincoln. Do us proud."_

_"Yes 'mam."_

_She then returns a look of coy at Chris, making sure her features stay out of Piers' sight as her voice fills the room, "I'm sure you will be of great help to Captain Redfield and he will certainly do his best to cooperate with you. We expect great performance from the best of Alpha Team, don't we, Captain?"_

_Piers can't help but to note that the captain wore a sourly look of grimace then._

"Piers? You okay?" Carl's voice snaps the young sniper back to reality.

"Yeah…" he steals a quick glance at his watch and realizes he is late for paper duties. As a point of observation made just over these few days, he has come to realize that if he wants to get any work done with the captain, he has to snag it before the officer leaves for his smoke break. One smoke break could be the difference between getting a week-old report done and accumulating the numbers as each day passes. This isn't what he quite expected of himself to be doing when he was first informed of the transfer. He doesn't like playing nanny and babysitting, if given a choice. Therefore, he promptly gets up from his seat, earning the look of surprise from the other soldiers. Lunch is not but another twenty minutes more to go.

But he has only three minutes to the captain's office. Promptly after taking his leave, two minutes fifty-three seconds and counting down now.

* * *

"Captain? I know you're in there." Piers speaks before the office door, catching a very soft groan from behind the door before he knocks a second time, "I'm coming in."

"Nivans, I'm just about to—"

Piers eyes suspiciously at the tin canister on the desk then at his captain sternly, "Not before the Shkodra report, sir. You do know you're way off the deadline, don't you?"

Jill's right about one thing. Kid's really damn punctual like a goddamn rooster.

"I'll take five and come back at it," Chris sighs, his tired eyes showing clear sign that he must have been scrutinizing at the reports since morning. He even skipped lunch trying to clean up the paperwork long due, but that is only because Piers has been biting his tail really hard. As he gets up from his seat with the cigarette ready in his hand, he notices Piers staring at him in the most amusing way he has ever seen. It almost, _almost_, looked like a taunt. But before he actually tries to process what that look on his face actually means, the freshman is already standing before him and in a swift move, he takes the canister from his hand and repeats like an automated recording device, "Shkodra, then break. Sir."

"_I'm your captain so you better listen to me. Now get the hell outta my office."_

If only Chris had the nerve or heart to actually yell it out, that was what he had planned to unleash. But since he doesn't, he is just pathetically staring at Piers right now as he drops his ass back onto the chair he has been sitting the past four hours. If this keeps going on, maybe the nicotine in his body will eventually flush out of his system before he even knows it.

He'll let the rookie get away this time—this time being the fifth time actually.

"Fine. Bring the locals' testimony over." Chris gives up, earning a pleasantly pleased arched brow on Piers' face. Just, the brows.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

If it weren't for the number of reports Chris has successfully filed in over the last few days, it would have never struck him that the number of bioterrorist attacks have significantly grown more than he had expected within the year. He then wonders what took Command this long to decide the European division, having constantly flying in and out of Eastern Europe from Portland back then has taken a heavy toll on the casualty roll. The discrepancy of eight hours could have saved thousands of lives and more. Albania and Macedonia have taken severe hits the last six months, speculations revolve around the sale of these viruses on the black market remain as the primary cause. Africa could have been the reason. Floaters could have stolen samples from Tricell before it was secured by the B.S.A.A., therefore resulting in these post-event damages. Albeit he is now sitting on a bench before the recreation facility taking his well-deserved smoke break, his mind continues to scramble the bits and pieces of information together.

Dinner break is over by now and he realizes he hasn't had anything for the day. After four full reports, he guessed he isn't that hungry after all. He only wants the cigarette.

Some peace. Some alone time. Some—_bbrrzzzz!_

Goddamn asshole to not call him at this hour of the day.

Frustrated, he blindly picks up the phone, ready to shower his wrath when a familiar voice speaks, "How's the new boy?"

Oh god, why oh why Jill why?

"Rooster is an understatement, he's a goddamn alarm clock on the cell phone that is so portable that even if your battery runs out, he'll still ring when the time comes."

Chris knows the giggle is not his imagination. "Looks like he's doing fine."

"Maybe by your next visit, I'm going to lose all my manliness of a bear to an abused, chapped, shaved panda." The exasperation in Chris' voice tickles another funny bone inside Jill as she struggles to keep it out of the conversation. She knows the boys will do just fine—she calls it the woman intuition.

"Hey I love pandas all the same," Jill comforts, "Maybe he likes them too."

The captain pauses for a moment to catch a hint in her words, nothing too obliviously wrong he hopes, "Are you driving at something?"

"The only thing I'm driving right now is my Premacy out to lunch."

It will be best to turn a blank eye on that and Chris decides so. But as soon as he did that, his stomach responded to the word 'lunch' and he feels an insanely sharp growling coming up. He should really go try his luck at the kitchen for any leftovers if he wants to stop that hunger.

"I've missed lunch and dinner. Right now, your hungry panda is gonna try to scrap some leftovers and hopefully with luck, find something in the kitchen."

"Oh dear, Chris. Please go out and get some takeaway," the switch in Jill's voice is pure sign that despite all that horrid alternate persona she has, the gold is still there.

"Thanks, Jilly. I'll—"

"Can't risk the grizzly tearing down our buildings out of hunger." And _beep! _Chris hangs the phone up immediately. A hungry man is an angry man. The heartless woman deserves to suffer the wrath of this angry man. Chris flips his eyes upwards after staring at his phone for a good five seconds, wondering what has he done to deserve not a single ounce of pity from anyone. He is still a human underneath all that legend stuff, still capable of feeling tired and hungry all the same. And definitely still able to hear the growling from his stomach much less feel it so he got to his feet heading for the cafeteria.

As he comes around the leisure facility, he sees a silhouette in the distance approaching. With the few lampposts stationed one every few markers apart, he stops by one nearest to him and waits for the shadow to come by, the routine salutation. What he expects to be a surveillance guard on duty turns out to be the gatekeeper of Hell probably here to escort him back to his hell of a desk to continue with the reports. The last he recalled the gatekeeper's name is none other than Piers Nivans, the ace of Arizona.

"_Oh god, can't you give me five minutes of peace?"_ is what conjured in Chris' mind not that he is breathing a word about it. He awkwardly stands by the lamppost, trying desperately to blend into the background to feign their coincidence by holding his cell phone to read some long expired messages. Upon recognizing Piers, he knows his peace for the night is due and next he will likely be bounded in chains back to office. The young soldier is doing him a favor by ensuring his work is done on time so in his defense, there is really nothing he could say to tell him to bug out of his affairs. That would be shitting his kindness like a douchebag in plain words. Thus, even if he hates doing the work, he'll do it out of unwillingness. What a pathetic excuse of a captain he can be at times.

"Captain," Piers salutes.

"At ease. It's just us." Chris dismisses the formality, sinking his back against the building wall behind him. "You should be back at your bunk now doing whatever you want. It's the free hour."

The silence Piers keeps warrants a suspicious look from his captain. Chris could only blankly watch the boy as he waits. He certainly doesn't want to use his authority as a means to pry for answers.

Determined to finish what he started, the young soldier kicks himself before he grabs a wrapped sandwich from the paper bag he carried and hands it to his captain. Chris is surprised at the gesture, the good kind of surprise that is.

"This…?"

"That's what was left in the kitchen. You haven't had anything all day I suppose?"

One of Piers' trademarks other than his excellent shooting is definitely his observation skill. Chris realizes that this is the first time someone has taken notice of his affairs rather than him going about other people's. Even if it is something as simple as a sandwich for the night, it brings a sincere smile out on the captain's face. Beside the fact that his stomach is more than grateful for it.

"Thanks. Really needed that."

And when Piers sees that smile, his heart skips a beat at the tenderness. Or he thinks his heart skipped, or maybe he is just unfamiliar being smiled to in a long time. Or perhaps it might be his imagination that his captain smiled at him. Whatever the case may be, the point is he knows he is not used to this and because of that, he doesn't let the surprise catch him off guard as he continues to portray that ever professional look of a soldier.

"No problem, captain. Have an early night. I will see you at o-eight-hundred tomorrow to follow up on the Kosovo incident." And he leaves quickly after that.

Although the gatekeeper is right back on duty so it seems, at least Chris believes that under that mask of doom, somewhere deep inside, it reveals a small fraction of softness hiding in his hidden Arizonan deception.


	3. Guide 02: Beer

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_I can almost feel like I'm getting suspicious stares from readers from my other fictions. I assure you they are still in progress. Please forgive me for the attention span. _

_And gosh, aren't you readers most generous with those heartwarming reviews! My heartfelt thanks to all of you out there, you have no idea how honored I feel whenever I read them. Keep them rolling, they're always welcomed. And please pardon the descriptions, I know they can be overwhelming at times._

* * *

_"Make it worth the price you pay"_  
_— Triumph, Fight the Good Fight_

Cold winds blowing and sun setting, six men suited up in their M65 before they fire up the old beat up junk of a Humvee to secretly slip out of camp. Piers sits quietly in the passenger seat watching his captain drive through the lonesome road, forestry raging on both sides of the street. Cool air breathe through the side windows as he catches a shiver to his nose, sneezing rather softly as he hurriedly shuts the window, the back of his free hand rubbing his nose awkwardly.

"Not a fan of the cold, Nivans?" Chris ponders aloud, eyes not leaving the road.

"Not acquainted to it, sir." Piers responds dutifully, paying good attention to the surroundings.

"Soon you'll have to, winter's coming."

The unusual silence catches Piers' attention shortly after his captain stops talking. Turning to the back seat, the four boys scrunched up are completely silent. Their solemn faces hanging makes him wonder if they could be out on espionage at first, but is then forced to drop the idea as soon as he figured that one, they are soldiers not agents and two, they are completely unarmed. Being unarmed out with the Alphans worries Piers; the captain gave them no time to prepare ahead, clearly stating no guns no weapons allowed at the rendezvous point. What sort of mission would require them stripped bare of their weapons to proceed? Piers can't help but to think of the worst, fact being they are not dealing with criminals or thugs but real, life-threatening dead people coming back to life. You will never know for a moment if they may spur a sprint and pounce onto you, one bite is all it takes to decide between life and death. In their case, death is not even an option. So pitting their lives on the frontlines, it is not likely someone as inquisitive as Piers will brush this aside and just listen to his officer. There must be some sort of justification to support this madness.

"Captain," and so he begins.

"Yeah?" The laidback attitude Chris possesses really disturbs him at times. Laidback is one of the qualities he has yet to appreciate with the chaos going on.

"Where exactly, are we going?"

"I'm afraid that information is classified as of now, Nivans. You will be given the clearance once we arrive."

Although he understands the level of clearance required for special cases, the sharp inhale of a forestalled cackle coming from the back of the vehicle tells him this is definitely not one of those special cases. He senses bits of mockery hidden behind him, as though everyone knew what was going on except him. Being the only one not knowing what is going on is not a pleasant feeling he reassures, chewing the inner flesh of his lower lip he pray tells if he could have just stayed back in the practice range earlier. Piers would give anything to get back there to let off some steam now, taking this untold secrecy a little too serious for his own good. He swore the back of his hair had to have bristled after feeling a rasp of silent whispering or lipwording swept by, most unwilling to admit that the culprit could just have been the cold breeze rushing by. With the silence growing in the vehicle, he is now desperately masking his scowling away, which started all because of some stupid observation he shouldn't have paid attention to.

"You okay, Nivans? Looking a little tense there." Piers marvels at Chris' observation of him in return, he was once called 'the man of indifference' for a good reason. So he intends to stay that way by not responding to the harmless concern, pretending to not have heard it as a good way to avoid further questioning he speculates.

However as Chris motions the vehicle leftwards, the curt turn leaves Piers grabbing for the side handle before he settles back to his seat. When he does, he notices a hand holding the joint of his shoulder firmly acting as support to prevent him from toppling over. Weathered, veined, coarse and large size of a hand pressing against him, warm and fleshy just like… a bear. He thinks.

"Soldier or not, that doesn't give you the excuse not to buckle up your seatbelt." The captain scolds, taking his hand back to the wheel as he glances at intervals between the young soldier and the road.

You can call it the combustion between body heat and the cold weather or something else known as embarrassment but it does not discount the dusty pink spreading from Piers' nose to his cheekbones in face of the harmless scolding. Hesitantly, he pulls the cord over his chest and clips it to the side of his seat, wondering how did he forget it in the first place. Though, he still feels a little bashful from that earful. It reminded him of his mother telling him off when he was still… perhaps five years of age then.

"Uh… sorry sir." It is an awkward battle deciding between apologizing or thanking. Piers decides to go with the prior, opting an easier route out.

"Take it easy, I'm not asking for your apology." Sorry came as a surprise given the amount of pride Chris thought Piers has so he wants to dismiss it as quickly as possible. He doesn't believe in apologies but only in gratitudes, that time should be spent complimenting rather than regretting. "Don't take it too seriously, Nivans."

Piers manages a mild nod, taking the matter a little too close to his heart considering there are four pairs of eyes watching the exchange the whole time. What has just happened could quite possibly be matched as unprofessional; taking the effort to tell a man he should fasten his seatbelt seems absolutely mundane. What else is redundant? His captain telling him to take it easy. They are on a mission, unarmed, unprepared and his captain tells him to take it easy. He will once he knows what is installed for him but no, he has no clearance. No damn clearance to be informed of the situation. There better be guns there then, that is the last Piers could wish for.

It has been a while since they last turned into another road, but the vacancy of life remains. Soon the sky turns dark rapidly, the only light left in the wilderness now is that of their own. However, that theory only stayed for as long as it came when they sight an emitting light source at the end of the road. The blip gradually grows in size the closer they approach it and no sooner, the young soldier in the passenger seat realizes that they must have finally arrived at their destination. Eager, he straightens his back as he begins to rationalize the night mission. The building up front must have been their weapons depot for them to suit up and get ready for the debrief on their infiltration. Perhaps the mission scheduled for tomorrow has been shifted forward due to some unforeseen circumstances, which is why he had no clearance. That must be the reason for all the haste in between, Piers is actually pretty certain now.

"Let's go boys." Chris reverses into a spot he seems to be so familiar with amidst the darkness and locks the car in place. The other Alphans have already stepped out of the vehicle, making their move towards the entrance leaving Piers with the captain not too far from them. The young sniper follows behind his officer, keeping his face as nonchalant as possible as the door swings open in full force.

What are the odds? A smile called irony graces inside Piers.

"I can see ya brought ya'll troops again, capt! So why don'cha grab that seat o'er there while I bring ya boys some pitchers to start with?" The barmaid greets the fine men of Alpha by the door as she points a table in the quiet corner for them to fill up. While the four boys scoots in quickly, Chris and Piers are left taking the outermost seat facing each other and Chris could almost see the disappointment in the sniper's eyes.

"Not quite what you'd expected, huh?"

Piers keeps his thoughts to himself. It is best if his captain doesn't probe what he is thinking.

"Oh c'mon, stop frowning!" Andy encourages, "We have a big day tomorrow and it's only fair if we enjoy ourselves tonight." Despite the suggestion, Piers is not taking his words well. He doesn't understand the concept of playing the night before a major exam. In his case, he would be studying, no doubt practicing all night long in order to excel the next day. That is only the most logical thing to do.

Barmaid comes back with four pitchers in her hands, setting the foamy liquid on the wooden table with a loud thud. Keeping the merriment going, Chris pushes the celebrative drinks to the center of the table where Ben announces that he is going to empty one on his own. Jeering, Marco catches his bluff, exposing his low alcohol tolerance will take him no further than two mugs. Joining the dare, Andy offers to carry Ben back if the techmeister would not interfere the challenge, requesting their captain to play judge to see how long this is going to last. Chris consents in a silent chaff, watching them battle it out when barmaid comes back again with six empty iced mugs, a bowl of snacks and a bill for him to see to. He then follows her to cash up, leaving the boys to start drinking before he returns.

"Hey…" Piers doesn't notice his eyes has been following the back of his captain until he feels the prickling sensation of the cold mug touching his hand, watching Carl slipping the mug into his hand resting on the table, "Have one."

Piers is reluctant at the vice as he fiddles with the handle, making wet stains on the wooden furniture sitting beneath it. He still doesn't think that beer on the night before their mission is a good idea.

"Seriously. Cut yourself some slack," Marco repeats, "I don't know how many times have I said this but kid, you really need to cut yourself some slack." If the tech specialist is not worried about connecting the wrong wires on field tomorrow, why should the ace be? Still, Piers doesn't voice his concerns, he just wants to keep his mind sober for the night to hurry over. Nevertheless, Marco persists, "The captain knows what he's doing," as he lets the bitter lager flows down his throat where the burning in his cheeks starts to rise.

Carl nods, supporting the fact—a fact that Piers has yet to recognize.

The sniper's brow twitches for a moment as he looks around the den; soldiers he has never met before, all clad with the B.S.A.A. logo on their sleeves. Other than wearing their military suits, they are wearing a look of contentment in this sleazy joint, with nothing other than a mug of beer in their hand, a stub of cigarette between their loose fingers. Age didn't matter, they seem genuinely happy to be here, bantering with the barmaids and other military men. Piers doesn't seem to get the idea of all this, for one his father would disapprove of him being in a place like this to begin with.

"Okay, ace. Shoot." After winning the arm wrestle with Ben, Andy shoots a look that tells everyone that he has had it with the newcomer's brooding. "What are you worried about?"

All eyes turn to Piers except for Ben who is hiding in his beer, drinking. Again, the young sniper reminds himself that he should really get used to this problem-solving attitude the Alphans adopted. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, trying to see the situation as neutrally possible as he could.

"I…" and Piers tries, unsure why it feels so much harder to be truthful with the new team than he was in Arizona, "I just don't think we should be drinking on the night before a mission. Drinking should be left after the mission, in the name of celebration and commemoration, when a victory is won. We should stay focus for the outfield tomorrow, not wasting time like this."

Besides accepting the fact that this could be the first time Piers has said anything more than ten words in a sentence, the boys stop to digest his words thoroughly, but not before Andy strikes a hasty rebuttal, "Wasting time? You think we're wasting time doing this?"

For that, Marco is visibly seen slapping a palm over his forehead; he knows that tone of voice at the back of his hand. What Andy is going to say next will be suggestively heat triggering, the kind that usually no one is capable of taking it down without a fight. Ben and Carl knew likewise, but stopping him before it happens is likely going to cause twice the damage.

"Do you have any idea why—"

"What did I miss?" Chris steps into the picture with another pitcher in his hand, earning the temporary distraction of an oncoming argument. "Complimentary."

"It's nothing much, capin," Marco tries to close the topic but not before Andy interrupts to continue his piece, he really wants to get it out.

"Ace here doesn't understand the shit we being here and thinks we should be—"

"Hey you asked for my opinion and I gave my honest opinion that's all. What are you so upset about?" Piers defends himself instantly, pointing an index at Andy who fails to take that gesture lightly. He strongly believes there is nothing to be upset about his honesty, he offended no one in there.

Breaking the tension however, Chris sinks the pitcher onto the table loudly, successfully shutting the boys up while he decides to sort the matter amicably. If there is a need to explain, he supposed he should have done it to Piers before he got the boy out to join them, though a large portion of the reason for not doing so comes from the fear that Piers would reject before he gives it a try. This was supposed to be a get-to-know-each-other-better session instead of a trashing one and Chris intends to keep it that way to the end.

"Nivans. Up, follow me." Playing captain, he calls the sniper out of the bar, leaving the three men to handle the other angry Alphan. It should be easier to deal with the rational one.

* * *

"Captain." As soon as Piers steps out into the cold, he sees his officer leaning over a fence finishing a stick of cigarette in his hand. "If you are looking for an apology—"

"That's not what I asked you to come out for," Chris drops the stub onto the ground and steps it out, watching the younger man coming towards him. He gathers a minute to organize his words before he starts, a tiny hope praying that the boy understands where his goodwill is coming from, "I understand this is not your thing."

"My thing?" His tone is almost on the brink of accusatory, but not quite, yet.

"Drinking. You know, just taking a break from the midst of chaos for a quick drink."

"Pardon me, sir, but I understand the need for a drink but can't it wait?" Piers is not aware that his voice is slightly gaining volume, confidence boosting the power of his words, his thoughts, "Can't it wait till after the mission?" He is certain that he is not mistaken, his idea is logically soundproof.

And Chris knows what he says is right, though he also knows that that logic is proven to work only in theory. Truth is, sometimes things just don't work out the way the books says and it is in these times, it calls for a different measure, approach to it. Life lessons, as he calls it. "What are we supposed to drink to after the mission, Nivans?"

"The mission success, sir. That we manage to carry out our mission, achieve the objective and come back alive, sir." Piers responds eagerly, almost too eager, trying to prove that his ideology isn't groundless.

"What about those who don't?" Chris pauses after he says it, eyes darting straight at Piers for a reply.

Piers looks back intently, swallowing an invisible breath, speechless. Clearly he hasn't thought about that in the midst of his objectivity.

"What about those who don't, Nivans?" The captain repeats, expecting a reply this time.

"We… we commemorate their deaths… sir." The young sniper evades a look from the captain, a rush of guilt forming in his gut when he finishes those words.

"There is nothing to celebrate when we come back from a mission," Chris' voice increasingly low, looking ahead into the darkness away from Piers, "We've gone out countless missions and came back with less than what we had. It'll be pretty damn lucky if we had a body to bring back but most of the time, we don't. Most of the time, we just watch them turn. People bearing our crests, our badges, turning against us."

Piers presses his lips tight, he wants to hear more.

"What can we do? What is left for us to do? An honorable death is all that we can give. We don't hesitate to put them out of their misery, our misery. Our loss. The loss of our comrades, the people whom we fight with. The people whom we live on to fight for. This battle is endless, we'll never know when it's gonna be our turn. Every battle we step into could be our very last. So we have to cherish what we have, learn to hold onto what is precious to us now. Live everyday like it's the last, live it like there's no regrets. So there will be no regrets."

Piers never knew his captain's voice can be so… illustrative. A veteran telling his part of the war he has been through to him. The voice sending a chill down his back; he could almost visualize the pain he must have seen, the loss he must have endured, no doubt the man who sent the global fiend to his demise. No doubt the man who continues to fight, because he has to.

The hero he believes he is. There, all in one piece, Piers believes.

"So we drink today, and every time before every mission we set off, not because we're impatient to have fun, not because we're being confident in our game. We drink to commemorate the people we have with us today, to thank them for being a part of our lives today. We don't care what tomorrow may bring, for this moment we only celebrate for today. We drink for today. We celebrate those who live with us today and every soldier, and I do mean every soldier including yourself, Nivans, are always entitled to that one last drink before the battle we throw ourselves in tomorrow."

Standing side by side, Chris turns away from his blank staring and gazes at Piers, who seems to have a sense of regret settling between his eyes. Conscience biting more like it, and Chris smiles warmly at him before extending an arm around Piers' back, patting it strongly.

"Like I said, the apology is not really needed. Just remember where we're coming from. That's all we're asking. That's all I'm asking of you."

Piers nods silently, eyes gluing to the ground before the chill attacks his nose again, causing a sudden sneeze hard around his numbing nose. Coming off that chilliness, the previous pinkish glow settles back on the tip of his nose once more, signs of coldness hitting him evidently. The young sniper rubs the sides of his sleeve harshly, closing his arms to his body in attempts to concentrate the body heat but it seems to be failing. Although he should request the captain to head back now, the bitter scent of the burnt nicotine suggests that his officer is probably smoking double time. He will just have to toughen this one out he supposed, an endurance training for the coming winter calls for it.

Then in his frustrated heat generating moments, a shawl of real heat grabs him from around the shoulders and he feels it slowly spreading down his arms, chest and torso. Looking to his right, he sees his captain, lips biting the stub of his cigarette, an arm stretched across his back pulling his jacket over his shoulders. Piers could almost feel the body heat radiating off his captain, possibly the only explanation to the warm jacket around him being so, well, warm. Though he thinks this is too much of the captain to be taking care of his welfare, the captain dismisses his worry with a wave of his hand, assuring that he is fine without it anyways.

"But captain—"

"I'm a furnace. Or people say, a bear." Instead of laughing at the description as to what Chris expects, Piers just continues to bore holes in him, still hesitating to keep the fabric. Meeting his sniper's somewhat concerned eyes, Chris again reassures, "Oh c'mon. It's not like a bear dies in the cold. Wear it properly."

Taking the advice rather attentively for no apparently reason this time, Piers slips both hands through the oversized jacket, which perfectly fitted over his own. That is about four sizes bigger than he is Piers thought, mind calculating the discrepancy almost automatically. As the readjusted warmth clings onto him now, he drops the idea of parting with it and tucks his hands into the pockets of Chris' jacket, oh god he's never leaving this jacket until they are back at camp.

"You look all warm and comfy under there. Bear technology." Chris laughs, dabbing away the burnt filter.

"I hope you're not regretting loaning me this jacket, captain. I'm beginning to settle in it actually." Piers greases over the line, thumb pointing towards the door, "Shall we head back in?"

Chris nods and follows suit, hands kept in the pockets of his jeans as he hesitates to speak, wanting to make sure things are right back on track before they step in, "Just grab the drink and enjoy the night, all right? That's all I'm asking, Nivans."

Not bothering to turn around to show the playful smirk crawling up his face, the sniper knows his captain's request is not one he cannot comply. So holding the door and hiding the smile away, he complies with it.

"Can't say no when the captain's buying."


	4. Guide 03: Pride

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_First, I swear I don't know how did this chapter become so long. Next, you won't believe the amount of times I have spent rewriting the ending for this chapter, I almost went panda mode on my keyboard. Nothing is always, always smooth-sailing. I'll prove it in this chapter._

_Off topic, interesting enough, I decided that I want to change my pen name. I don't know what are the effects for doing so, but I felt like it. So maybe the pen name will go away after I find myself settling with something comfortable._

* * *

_"Yeah, it's just a matter of pride_  
_But that's all I've got left"_  
_— Damageplan, Pride_

This is not how it was supposed to go.

Piers paces up and down the corridor of the Alpha bunk and just before he thinks about going in, he makes a quick turn and heads back down the stairs. The swelling in his stomach is killing him and to make matters worse, he has to acknowledge the fact that all of this happened because of him, despite feeling stubbornly strong that he had everything in control. Stepping out of the makeshift dormitory, he shivers in the frosty night when the lights go out, leaving the lampposts as his only guidance lighting the way. His chest tightens as he brings the vivid scene to mind, a taste of helplessness mouthing less than six hours ago. His teammates are right about him; this shouldn't have happened at all if only he had listened.

Though, his pride wouldn't let it go either. Arguably that this wouldn't have happened if they had just trusted him in the first place.

Piers kicks the loose soil on the ground, sulking to the constricted feeling he still feels in his chest. The frustration advances slowly, seizing the deep breaths he takes, wanting nothing but to let it out all, screaming and yelling with all his might that this is not entirely his fault. He was in control and he had everything sorted out, whether they believed it or not. The glances exchanged prior to an hour ago were nasty, the snarling visual of the very angry Alphan imprinted in his mind. It wills every bit of his strength to erase those images for now, never once had he felt this remorseful and bitter in his entire life.

The Ace of Arizona, reduced to this pile of incompetent, self-absorbent and prideful egoist.

Piers scorns.

He touches the corner of his jaw, a sharp pain hidden beneath the skin and flesh permeating. A powerful right hook to the side of his face with courtesy. Gratifying courtesy from Andy.

Gratifying, only if his pride lets the assailant walk away with it or even permitting a tiny chance for him to sit on the sidewalk, but no. Not without a returned gesture at least to the left side of his senior's face, somewhere caught in between his eye and cheekbone that left his pride smirking. Piers grits his teeth, a fist pounding the nearest grained wall to him, the impudence would have cost him his clean record when the captain finds out. That was completely irrational on his part, but the cat caught his tongue when he needed it most.

He should have tried reasoning it out like he always did so. How did things go so out of control?

His footsteps come to a halt as he approaches the medical office. Scrunching up his toes inside, he takes a deep breath before knocking on the window of the duty box. The soldier on duty questions his purpose of visit, at the odd hour before the midnight.

This night isn't going to go away until he sees the damage with his own eyes.

"Captain… Captain Chris Redfield."

* * *

_"The information has been encrypted to your portable hubs. Mission objectives, specificities, coordinates, rendezvous point are all stored in the communication device so hit the button if you need to retrieve the information at any time. We will team up with Bravo at the point of interception at the Eight of Spades. This is a covert mission. No air support has been authorized. We stick together as a team. Nobody takes off on their own, understood?"_

_Sitting in the cargo hub of the C-17 Globemaster is the Alpha Team with their team leader debriefing them on the mission for the day. This is their first mission dispatched from the European base, a silent anxiety settling in for the need to excel to match up to the expectations from top brass. Last heard, Bravo has already arrived at the drop-off point and Alpha is arranged to arrive in exactly thirty minutes after. Final checks to their weapons and ammunition, they are ready to go._

_"Yes sir."_

_Chris nods to acknowledge his men, "Synchronizing watches in three… two… one…"_

_Once confirmed, the seconds tick at a singular beat, a necessity to make sure everyone is moving on the same time, the simple expectation of a team. Piers finishes his final checks to the Anti-Material rifle hanging around his back before he flashes his hub on the tail floor, reprocessing the information to confirm the details he remembers._

_**Date of Dispatch**: November 26, 2010 / +01:00 UTC, 17:00 CET_  
_**Coordinates:** 44.1142° N, 15.2278° E / Zadar, Croatia_  
_**Mission Objective:** Secure the Port of Zadar_  
_**Mission Specificity:** Suspected black market virus dealings taking place in the Port of Zadar. Secure the dealings and bring back the specimens of the virus involved. All weapons are utilized, take out all hostiles compromising the mission objective._

_Piers won't lie, he is somewhat nervous at his debut mission. The missions he previously participated back in Arizona are nowhere near as wide-scaled as this. They usually turned out as false alarms, drug infiltrations or gang barrages. There had only been two instances where he has encountered an actual case of a zombie outbreak though for the record, the dominant ratio then was almost ten soldiers to one zombie. No surprise that he didn't really took part in the action, since Williamsburg's team was dispatched to route the premises and secure the perimeters. His exposure ensured that he has seen the grotesque mostly however, not as much as to shoot them down as primary objective as of current._

_Despite confident with his aim, his uncertainty comes in abundance from the ill information to the location. This is definitely no walk in the park, he bears that strongly in mind._

_"Are you okay, Nivans?"_

_The calm voice of his captain stirs him back to the hollowness of the cargo tail, "Yes, sir."_

_Making good mental note that this is Piers' first mission out of the States other than the fact that the young ace is gripping the handle of his machinegun twice as hard, Chris walks up to the rookie and stands before him, "Just give it everything you've got. The team's got your back, okay?"_

_At the affirmation, apart from the resonance his captain subtly gives, Piers steadies his hand, shifting the uneasiness away as he humbly nods, "Yes, sir."_

_Chris ends their conversation with a pat to the ace's shoulder, a firm and strong tug to Piers' shoulder that somehow drops the weight he carries inside. The strength he feels after that is unexplainable, it assures him on multiple levels of illogic that could only simply be expressed that he is in good hands. He secretly decides that that is the difference between Williamsburg and his newfound captain, overlooking the other bad habits the current leader possesses just for the time being._

_A sudden bump and an alarm ring tells Piers that they have arrived at their starting point. Grabbing the machinegun firmly, Piers runs behind the other Alphans whom have darted out of the plane. He crosschecks the medic pack stitched to the back of his ballistic vest one last time, the weight of his bolt rifle comfortably sitting on his shoulder in comparison to the others carrying the equivalent weight around their body. Chris leads them under the shelter of an abandoned apartment, its window in full sight of the setting sun over the sea. Bravo is out of sight, likely to already have set off on schedule. The captain prepares one last instruction before they part their separate ways to the rendezvous point, time checking with his men as they kneel on the concrete floor to stay out of horizontal sight._

_"In exactly thirty minutes, I want both teams to be ready to be at the Eight of Spades. Bravo will provide the backup five minutes after we have wrapped the event. Make no contact with the civilians and stay out of the light. Ben and Carl, you will assist Marco to set up the escape route. Make your way back to us ASAP once it's done. Piers, Andy, you're with me. Move out."_

_Jumping out of the rear window in the far corner of the room, Marco leads his sub team off to plant the explosives planned out in the map. Chris signals to both men as they follow closely behind, avoiding another invading sunlight as they creep from room to room, advancing towards their destination. The arena is cleared out as informed, the civilians likely be done with a day's work and have gone back. On further observation, there is a strain on the numbers of vessel on scene. Apparently top brass isn't kind enough to filter out the higher probabilities for the boys, especially when they have no time to go through them one by one with the limited numbers they have._

_Chris jumps across a rooftop as he descends downwards towards the port, rolling over his back as he lands in a porch, hiding behind the extended railing. Andy follows suit, leaving Piers on the lookout, quickly hopping over the railing to another level closer to the destination. The captain signals to Piers who jumps down from his scouting next to Chris before they both move up to Andy, who is now on the frontline routing the enemies in sight. Four blocks, approximately five hundred yards away, Andy could see the hostiles dressed in plain attire, guarding the bridge to a particular yacht distanced from the others._

_"Marco, we have target visual on sight. What is your status?" Andy calls into the receiver, leaving everyone waiting for the response._

_Some static pulls through a few seconds later before the familiar voice responds, "We have just arrived at the Two of Clubs. ET seven minutes to complete the setup and be at the Eight of Spades."_

_"Copy," Chris acknowledges, calling both men to stick tight while they approach the yacht. "Bravo, this is Alpha leader. ET twelve minutes to Eight of Spades."_

_"Copy that, Alpha leader," comes after several seconds of silence, assuring the Alphans that time is going as planned._

_It didn't take long before the three men are positioned in their stipulated spots separately, giving them just enough visual to monitor the yacht in full spectrum of its entrance. Chris is counting his own breaths, a method he occasionally uses to calm his heart rate from acting up. He looks to his right then to his left, watching Andy firm with his assault rifle in a sprinting distance first then Piers on the other side, seemingly nervous with his hand smoothing along the barrel of his sniper rifle._

_Three more minutes to go. The C4 must have set up by now with the rest of boys returning to their side. Time is of the essence as Chris returns to his watch, counting._

_Though suddenly, a load of gunfire heard in the distance pulls Chris' attention back to the yacht. A group of men begins to exit the yacht as soon as the sound dies out, the number a little too intimidating for the little they have currently._

_"Piers, I need you to report a visual on the hostiles." Chris commands, "Marco, we need you back here ASAP. Status report."_

_Piers clasps his hand around the barrel of this Anti-Material rifle and brings it to the railing he took cover from, resting the tip of the gun on the concrete as he rest his face to the cool side of the metal, looking through the scope. He moves around the area before locking them in his eye, adjusting the magnification to catch their faces._

_"ETA two and a half, sir."_

_"I need you back in two. Now."_

_"Sir, I've got a visual. Hostiles masked in scarves, abnormality in their facial structure. They have way too many eyes to account for and all seems to be securing a black case. Suspected infected, captain," Piers speaks confidently into the speaker, not taking his eyes off the group as they move up to the decks, the same level that of theirs._

_"Andy, pull out now. We need to fall back before Bravo arrives."_

_Adhering to the command quickly, Andy withdraws from his spot silently and leaps into the hut behind him, taking a quick escape through one of the windows. Chris pulls back simultaneously as well, retreating to a level higher as he watches the sub team rejoining them in the distance. The reunion is not without a price however, the blare of heavy machinegun roaring at them for one of the hostiles caught sight of their location, screaming nonsensically in their direction where more backup appear from the shades. Ben is first to fire at will, imperative to return the heat as he pleases. Scattering from their holdout, Andy moves off with Ben in line to hold the frontline in tact whereas Marco and Carl follow around to another sheltered cover to fish out the grenades. Chris drives through the door of another secluded apartment, back first into the wooden structure as he leans behind a wall next to the window, stepping into the light every once in a while to return fire as he keeps track of the time._

_And then he realizes Piers is out of sight._

_"Piers, do you copy?"_

_No answer. The silent treatment discomforting as the captain tries once more, "Do you copy, Piers?"_

_No radio returns._

_The other boys are silent through the radio as well, keeping the heat ongoing as the hostiles consistently grow in numbers. The crowd is definitely unexpected, albeit Command will not be too pleased with this argument. Nonetheless, Chris' priority has always been the safety of his boys and that's a fact unchanged even on his deathbed, so changing the priority of the mission to retreat is expectant of the captain. He is not about to take chances with the casualty roll on this suicide mission._

_While in the midst of his examination, he hears an explosive break of a shell not far from his location that reminded him of a cackle of a bolt rifle he used to play with. He darts out the secluded window, looking a level down where he sees the young ace lining his shots from below, taking out the waves of hostiles in his position. It appears that he remained where he was previously, saving the advantageous position for the frontline where Andy and Ben are defending. Chris is first impressed with Piers' fearless attitude, though no sooner upset with his solo action despite the orders issued during his debrief._

_"Piers. Get out of there now," Chris commands, leaping from the balcony of the apartment one level down, making his way to Piers to escort the boy out of the hot zone. "Prepare for retreat, status report Bravo."_

_"ETA one minute, Alpha leader."_

_And Piers is still not responding._

_When the captain finally sees Piers in person, he is horrified by the sight of four men creeping through the window of the apartment where the sniper has stationed himself in. Being three blocks away certainly didn't help the anxiety and all the Alpha leader could do is run, run like he has never before in his life, to save the stubborn young ace whom he will need to have a rundown with later when he does._

_"PIERS! GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE NOW, THAT'S AN ORDER!" Chris again yells into the retriever, his voice finally breaking through the sniper's concentration as he spins around to catch sight of the nozzle of the machinegun disappearing from the window into the hut. He instantly reaches for the machinegun hung around his back and sprays across the windows behind him, buying some time as he removes the tripod his rifle sat on to escape. Watching the flickering of light emitting from the patio, Chris is now only a few meters away, panting heavily as the hurdles in his path tested his endurance. Upon nearing, he leaps off the ground, diving over the railing as he pushes Piers onto the ground, another wave of bullet rounds showering from the apartment. The young ace is caught in a daze for a moment, surprised by the selflessness his captain displayed before he lifts the light-weighted weapon in his hand up to take out an enemy appearing from the window._

_Chris immediately rolls off his back once the crack of the parabellum sounded from the back of his head, the scream almost causing his eardrums to plead for mercy. He gets to his feet rather urgently, head diving through the window immediately as he rains bullets in the room, wiping out the secret squad. Piers watches the light flickering like that of an old light bulb in the room, ears capturing the death cries of the hostiles. Although his body wanes from the tackle, he forces his concentration back to process the event semantics. Rifle, he decides, that he should get it out of the way. With that in mind, he detaches the harness and pins it around him, hastily trying to carry the precious weapon along with him once his captain is ready for retreat._

_Except, his mind is too preoccupied to notice a red light flashing to the side of his head. The line so thin and laser sharp that the only thing it could have been is the marker of another sniper._

_When Chris realizes that Piers is not aware of his situation, his heart stops for a second before his reflexes reacts to it._

_Knocking Piers out of the way a second time, before the sniper even recognizes the danger he was in prior, the snarl of the sniper rifle in the distance hollered through the silent night as Chris collides against the railing, lying almost motionlessly on the ground once he lands on it. Piers quickly accesses the situation, crawling over to his captain who seems completely out of conscious when he turns him around. Barely rational to find shelter, his anger seeks his next course of action. Carrying the heavy rifle on the floor beside him and using one knee to prop his weight, he pulls the lever to reload as he stares deadly through the scope, quick to source for the red light hitting another direction as he fires, recoil pulling his body backwards as he watches a limp body falling off the patio one level above._

_When he comes around from the anger, the ace hears the arrival of Bravo team scoring through the radio as more gunfire adds to the noise. He drops the rifle in his hand, a loud clash of metal hitting the concrete as he pulls the captain to his legs, frantically searching for the injury that had meant to be his._

_"…'s o-okay…" Chris' voice interrupts his frenzy, one hand still holding his assault rifle while the other reaches over. Following the direction of his hand, Piers sees the blood pouring over his legs, flushing out from the gunshot wound caught in his captain's upper right arm. Chris' face seizes in pain, lips hissing from the pang as his eyes shut tight, hand clasping around his wound to ease the bleeding which isn't helping. It must have torn an artery._

_"P-Piers to Alpha… w-we need backup here… now!" His shaky voice is telltale sign to all teammates that something is amiss. Piers didn't care if he sounded amateurish, as long as the help comes as his mind chants. As long as it comes now._

_"Copy, we'll be right over," the voice copying back should be Marco's Piers thought. Then looking back at his leader, he tries to do what his captain seems to be best at doing, reassuring. Although his voice feels weak, he knows he has to try at all cost._

_"Help's coming, captain. Hang in there."_

_"…lax, r-relax… a gunshot… like t-this won't put me out… so easily," Chris quips, trying his best to comfort the ace whose eyes are almost reddened, perhaps on the verge of pouring something too emotional out on a battlefield like this. "H-hey… you did great."_

_Piers doesn't understand why his act of reassurance has become his captain's and all he can do is to hold the senior in place, trying his very best to not move him around as he reaches for the medic pack behind. He unzips the tiny package and pulls out a few bandages, desperately finding the end of cloth to wrap the blood-seeping wound. The sniper bullet sure went deep, Piers is unsure if it may have broken a bone in fact. Cursing inwardly, he tears the wrapping with his teeth and the bundle rolls out, taking one end of the cloth to wrap over his captain's bicep, pulling it to make sure it is tight and secure though not warranting any signs of pain from the captain. Then he realizes the captain has passed out cold._

_"Hey! Hey! Captain!" Shaking, Piers slaps Chris' face a few times, trying to wake the captain out of his nap._

_No response._

_The tight feeling returns to his chest, suffocating the blood rush to his face. Piers slaps his face harder. "Captain! D-Don't you fall asleep on me!"_

_Before he yells again, the door leading to the patio swings open in full force. The rest of Alpha and Bravo appear, the black case secured and members all in tact._

* * *

When he can feel his breathing again, Piers finds himself standing before the infirmary room where his captain is resting in. Despite the advice the medical officer gives, he insists he will only take a minute.

He finds himself unable to rest when all he can see is that cold face his captain wears while lying limp in his arms whenever he closes his eyes.

* * *

_"What the hell, Nivans?"_

_As soon as the medic team escorts the captain to the infirmary once they touched down, Andy grabs Piers by the collar and scowls at him. He knows his anger is not misplaced._

_In face with Andy's anger, Piers only silently lets the other vent. His mind only continues to chase the shadow of his captain being stretchered away, a whiff of remorse hitting him hard._

_"Goddammit, I'm talking to you." Andy repeats. The other three Alphans decide to keep their pieces for now; they prefer to reserve their interrogation until the captain is better to do it himself. But they know Andy won't be letting this off easily._

_"What happened, Piers?" Carl steps in, sensing the need to soothe the friction before it combusts into a ball of fire apart from the need to satisfy everybody's curiosity as to what happened earlier._

_But Piers couldn't speak. He doesn't know what happened other than the fact that his captain took a bullet for him. That he put the sniper down after he sees his captain lying still on the ground. He has no explanation prior to that in fact._

_Therefore, the naturally nonchalant look worn on Piers' face, as a result of said previous, does nothing other than to infuriate Andy's wrath further. He is convinced that the ace feels no sense of responsibility for the damage he has caused from the look on his face. He swears there could be an invisible smirk behind it laughing at their captain's stupidity, showing no appreciation for the man who just risked his life to save him. Pride. Loathsome ego. That prideful son of a bitch, Andy curses, he needs to be taught a lesson._

_"You fucking prideful son of a bitch," Andy unleashes, earning a hateful stare down from Piers. That did it, sparking a heat from within. Tension gathers in strength, everybody is upset in the hangar. The ace knows everyone is concerned with the captain's progress at this point but if Andy is going stir a fight with him by inflicting more tension, he welcomes it. It could be a good way to let off some steam, he decides. "So you think you're all big shot and aced that you can jeopardize our mission by flying solo? Who the fuck do you think you are?"_

_Pushing Andy's hand away from him, Piers shifts his collar as he snaps, "I had everything under control." His pride wouldn't let it get away before Andy, not when he has just clearly insulted his mother in the process. The ace is not so tolerant with curses pertaining to his family, "I know what I am doing."_

_"So you get all high and mighty thinking you can do everything by yourself is that so, you piece of shit? Capin's orders were clearly to stick together as a team and what the fuck did you do? This plane doesn't fly solo, you asshole. If it weren't for your solo act, the capin wouldn't have taken a shot like that."_

_That is a clear dig at the mistake Piers made, though he is most aware of the trouble he has caused, so much so that he doesn't think there is a need to be reminded twice. Talk about guilt? They have no idea what he is going through right now, the kind of guilt he knows would haunt him even if his captain forgives him. It is biting him so hard that his inner lip would bleed if he doesn't stop chewing on it, his heart would burst if he doesn't stop thinking about it. All he can see is the eyes shut tight when the captain went out cold and all his hands can still feel is the motionless body resting in them. The fear he tasted, the panic he went through—nothing they would understand._

_But pride. God-awful pride doesn't let up. Piers grimaces, if there is one word he could say to the team now, he is aware that 'sorry' is not the word because of it._

_"The captain trusted me that's why he didn't scream through the radio like you are doing right now."_

_'Stop it', Piers tells himself._

_"What happened is inevitable. No one saw the sniper coming our way. We didn't know this was going to happen."_

_'Please, stop it', Piers begs himself to._

_"I understand you are mad at me because I was on scene with the captain. I know you must be thinking this happened all because of me but the truth is, we all know that this is just something we didn't expect it coming. Yes I was with the captain, but that doesn't mean I can foresee all this coming and prevent it."_

_'Just say sorry, dammit', Piers pleads._

_And before he tries to beg himself to stop whatever he is going to say next, he feels a right hook to his jaw, the impact so huge that he topples over the floor. Instead of feeling shocked, he licks the blood spilling from his gum as he turns his attention to Andy who still has his right fist clenched so tightly that it shakes, the skin radiating mild redness from the hard collision it hit into. Piers covers his bruised jaw with his palm massaging, returning the glare that Andy is outwardly throwing._

_"If this is the standard of the Ace of Arizona, then the B.S.A.A. has no use for someone as incompetent, self-absorbent and prideful as you are, you son of a bitch."_

_That was how the left hook came back at Andy, all unreserved and unapologetic._

* * *

Piers quietly turns the doorknob and sneaks a peek into the room, the back of his captain facing him. Supposing his captain has already rested for the night, he tries to close the door once more not before a meek voice calls from the room.

"Nivans? Is that you?"

Caught imposing, Piers reluctantly enters the room and closes the door behind. He pulls a chair beside the bed as his captain turns around to look at him, still dressed in the dirty soldier pants with the wound neatly addressed to. He then stares at the other light bruises forming over the half naked torso of his captain, mind still grimacing at the wound suffered in his arm.

"How are you feeling, captain?" is the best he could muster to show his concern. Chris looks back at the ace who averts his eyes, experience telling him the young soldier is wavering between apologetic or regretful.

"A wound like this won't put me down. Didn't I tell you that?" Chris jests warmly, trying to take the edge off.

"I—" Piers hesitates, he knows he is too overwhelmed with emotions right now looking at his captain who is still trying to comfort him. Guilt consumes him once more.

It makes him feel so small before the veteran, like everything he used to hold proudly is actually nothing but child's play. The magnanimity, the resilience, the selflessness, are qualities that would take a lifetime to embrace.

"Hey, no apologies. I told you I don't need such things." Chris pushes his body up against the headrest, looking at Piers who seems to be at a loss for words. "Though I am curious, why didn't you respond when I called you the first time through the radio?"

The ace knows he owes that much explanation to his captain. Even if it is his pride at stake, he needs to say it out, "I… I thought I had it under control."

"You did," Chris smiles, "But it's not everyday we think we have it under control means we have it under control."

Piers swears to himself, there is something about Chris' voice that always has this calming effect on him.

"My orders were clear," the captain's voice gradually stern, "to stick together as a team and no solo operation. You were in clear violation of that."

Piers purses his lips tightly, he can offer nothing to defend himself.

"I understand we can be hardheaded at times, times when we think that we know what we are doing, so long as we achieve the mission. But remember, there is nothing more important than the safety of our teammates."

Piers nods silently, letting the words sink into him.

"I was going to call for a retreat," Chris sighs this time, "that was when I noticed you were missing. Kinda got me worried there when you didn't respond to the radio."

The kind of voice Chris uses in that last liner is the kind that would make anybody feel guilty way into their bones. Safe to say, Piers feels likewise.

"I'm sorry… captain." Apology coming naturally from the young sniper, a word that he finds himself using often around the captain and only around him. It's not just a habit to say it, but the responsibility to use it. Clenching the edge of the metal chair, Piers feels an uprising surge of emotions rushing to his face, those same reddened eyes that Chris saw on the field are resurfacing now. The young soldier is fighting to hold them back, ever tightening his fists around the seat to keep those sorrowful thoughts in control.

"Don't be," Chris says warmly, a sudden urge making him lean forward to remove the tension visually trembling all over Piers, specifically taking his hand away from the seat, "Any harder you're gonna break the chair."

When Piers looks up in his pitiful state, tears wetting his irises though not pouring, he sees mirth in the eyes of his captain—the man injured, smiling at the man who caused his injury.

"It's not about feeling remorseful for the actions you have taken but to accept the consequences of those choices that you've made. There are good calls and there are bad ones, other than those we have neutral ones. Ones that are made to give and take from whatever the situation allows us to do so. You've made your call to take the gun and I've made my point to move as a team. I can write you up for uncompromising behavior but what would that gain me? I only want what is best for the team and as a team, we can only operate like so if we stick together as one."

Piers nods again, taking the advice closely to heart. Understanding that his captain is sparing his precious rest time to talk to him like this, Piers feels the need to heed his words even more so, especially to accept the importance of cooperating and building team rapport. That would mean giving up his indifference for the circumstances prevailing and learning to adhere to the team's need first instead of the mission objectivity. A big step he foresees himself to take, but one that he has to in order to continue serving Alpha.

"You're no longer in Arizona anymore. I don't care what you've done there or what you might not have, but now you're in Lincoln. You're in Alpha and you're under my command," Chris stresses on the last word, eyes looking dead straight at Piers with a voice that demands his cooperation. Since it lies in fact that Piers' stubbornness did almost cost the evacuation plan, Chris is not going to let this off so easily after all it seems. Eyes scorching, voice biting, his words croak dangerously low, "You listen to what I tell you to and you will not let any amount of pride get in the way of our mission the next time, understood?"

"Yes sir," the sniper bites his tongue, the captain nailed him right where he was, "sorry sir." He knows this apology is meant to make up for the one he resisted before.

Chris too nods in acknowledgment, taking his body back against the headrest. He shuffles under the sheets slightly before he catches sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "Now that we're clear, you should head back to bunk to rest for the night. It has been a long day after all and you'll need to write up that report on today's casualty by tomorrow."

Taking the hint that he is being chased away, may it be the fact that he is actually not wanted here anymore or the captain is just really tired, he gets up from his seat and steps away from it, hand automatically raised to his brow bone in salutation, "I will see to the report, sir. Have an early night and do get well soon."

"Good night to you too."

As Piers steps out of the room, he leans against the wall right next to the door, an accelerated heartbeat coursing through as he hears those oppressing words repeating in his ear like a chant. It is a weird sensation, one that the young ace is helpless to it. He can't help it if his captain happens to be the hero he idolizes and neither can he help it if his captain is always so good at comforting and reassuring him above all reproaches he makes. And now, he has become his lifesaver so it seems. He doesn't understand how the man functions as a person, as a captain either, that despite all the casualness he carries, there is always a part of him that is still a leader in command. Without all the authority trashing, rank labeling and angry screaming, he stands out with the humble methodology he uses, seeing his men as equal soldiers besides looking out for their welfares all the time.

But when the captain is upset, like just moments ago, Piers contests to that domineering hand he has over him. The throaty cords of the brute he appears to be wilting every piece of resistance the ace puts up. Piers tries to catch his breath, unsure why he is panting out of relief escaping the room. Escape, all he wanted was to escape. Escape from those searing eyes Chris looks at him with, demanding him with so much vigor that Piers knows he won't be able to say no to. He has no place to run, the feeling of being subdued just by a menacing look from his captain traps him boundlessly. Vivid images of the cold lifeless frame in the battlefield are instantly gone, quickly replaced by the fire scorching just before.

Piers grabs his uniform by the chest, caught in an invisible fear.

Worry got the better half of him believing that his credentials have just shattered before his eyes, that his captain is no longer looking at him as the perfectionist he once stood proud. He slaps a palm to his forehead, wishful for a reset button, or just a chance to go back six hours ago. He didn't do what he did to impress anybody he assures, bearing nothing in mind other than the mission objectivity he convinces. But his reasoning is left with no one to hear, no one to try to understand. If his captain decides to write him off just like that, Piers wonders what is left for him to continue serving the B.S.A.A.

His first major outfield, screwed up just like that.

His perfectionism couldn't take it, his body trembles with an inexplicable amount of despair.

Sliding his back against the wall down to his knees, Piers finds his palms pressing tight against his mouth, attempting to shut off any noise escaping from his mouth. His gloved hands push harder as he chokes on the suppression, swallowing the whimpers falling off his long lashes. He doesn't need anybody to see him in this sorry state, sorry being an understatement for the guilt he represses after the talk with his captain. He sucks a deep breath in, holding the urge that attempts to break through his control. But he fails at it, giving into the remorse that completely fills up his chest.

That hollow burn, contrite and condemned, gasping along the silent corridor as the ace shuts the world out for the night. Lost and trapped in his self-reproach, resenting, wounding, behind the wall in the presence of his sleeping captain.

Bending over to his knees, he cradles in the heat radiating off his face where his tears continues to cascade between his closed eyes. And as they continue to flow as they please, all that he could see now is the disappointment in his captain's eyes, endlessly haunting him in his own demise.

* * *

So I made the pretty boy cry, stake me on the board!


	5. Guide 04: Authority

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_And here we are, a prelude to what I would call as the first step between these two protagonists. I dare say after this chapter, most would start anticipating the next one coming. I've got my little devious plan, but it's all going to be kept in the Pandora's box for now. Little bits of snippets at the last quarter of the chapter, it's quite... adorable if you'd ask me._

_Next, this is somewhat very important, well to me, that is. I've actually started this little tribute for all you readers and supporters out there during this upcoming festive season. I've made a post about it and everything else is self-explanatory. You veterans do know how to omit it, don't you?_

_link: scafeandsalivate tumblr com / post / 35681729607 / growing-up-the-joy-of-christmas-readers_

* * *

"_A ray of hope for the common man"  
— Delirious, Break the Silence  
_

It has been around a week or so since Chris was discharged from the infirmary, about three days since he noticed an invisible tension sitting around in his team. He doesn't even bother to ask around to find out if there really was such a thing because he is absolutely sure of it. Just like the lunch fifteen minutes ago, while the four boys always scoot together to chatter with one awkward-looking Piers sitting amidst them, today the ace is nowhere to be seen. In fact, Chris hasn't seen him with them ever since he has come out of the med bay.

And the look Carl throws in his direction feels somewhat like his guilty conscience speaking, _sorry captain_.

So now, having some spare time in the afternoon, the captain is just doing his routine checks, trying to make sure his troops are well and not stirring some conflict somewhere in the bunks. He is guessing somewhere along the lines that conflict is the major cause of all this.

Ben is first seen on the training fields as Chris walks out of his office building, flirting with the regular girl from Foxtrot which he thinks they probably have had something going on for quite some time. He makes it a point not to interfere with the relationship between these two however, should they break the regulations in any given scenario, he knows he wouldn't be able to help either. Perhaps he may regret not warning him before when the day comes, but it's just the way it is… no way out.

So he decides to leave them be, letting the youths enjoy whatever they have right now while it lasts. Moving into the rear hangar, he sees Andy and Marco chatting—more like arguing over something in the distance. He walks towards his senior boys, the sound of the argument gradually louder as he closes in, which now makes the topic a little ridiculous for their own good in the captain's opinion.

"Oh shut up John Marco'vich. You're giving that old actor too much credit for the little roles he plays lately."

"You don't know how to respect the oldies, Andy Wanker."

Right, two soldiers debating about the credentials of an old actor. Chris tries to stifle a laugh, but surrendering he is clearly failing. Looking at the amused expression from their captain, the boys stop their conversation to salute their officer before going back into a staredown with one another.

"You boys into movies?" Chris asks only because he wants to find out the level of devotion they put into it. It surprises him when the boys nod their heads enthusiastically, before starting to list out the names of the movies they are interested in as well as the celebrities they have the hots for. So when John Malkovich's name naturally comes back into the picture, the bickering arises from the dead.

"I just don't see why Marco'vich here is defending that old geezer in all the fame and glory he already swims in. Give some credits to the newcomers, dude. They are also working their ass off to make it big, like Jennifer Lawrence or Liam Hemsworth."

"It's not like I'm not recognizing their effort. I just don't see your point dissing the great guy for all the works he has ever produced. Don't you feel the same way, capin?"

Bad call. Chris didn't expect the question to come bouncing back at him, because his answer would make him the old geezer that he downright is.

"Err… I don't watch movies." To support that fact, Chris goes on to tell the boys that he doesn't recall watching any movie that doesn't put him to sleep in the cinema within ten minutes or so. That confession alone broke somewhere inside Marco's heart, he thinks.

"The last time I watched a movie was about a year ago with Jill in Portland. I came out apologizing for sleeping through and I had to buy her dinner after that. I think she liked that movie very much. The name was err…" and he just can't remember the name of the movie no matter how hard he tries. In-depth sign that the captain is definitely no moviegoer like these young people are.

"Jill? As in Jill Valentine?" that rouses Marco's attention a little, "Wait, she likes movies too?"

Andy snickers at his teammate's reaction. He knows Marco is always just so keen to know more about the outstanding agent.

"I guess," Chris pauses, trying to recall if there are any other things Jill would have liked to spend her time doing, "she also likes to watch football if I'm not wrong. We did catch one or two games during season… anyways have you seen the others?"

If Chris is not mistaken, there is almost an immediate change on Andy's face as far as he could tell. For someone as brash as Andy is, it is no mean feat to suppress whatever rising emotions he feels at anytime. He is clear as crystal, transparent even. Like now, seeping red in the glass. So the captain is now convinced that something must have happened between him and Piers, counting out the possibility of another in the picture because if there is anyone who is capable of flaring up at a man like Carl, the provocateur definitely has some issues.

"Ben's at the fields and I think Piers is by the practice range. As for Carl… last seen I think he's there too."

Then there is an invisible 'showoff' mouthing off Andy's face as he turns away, expression contorted away from the previously seen enjoyable side.

"All right then. Don't forget to clean the rifles before shore leave tomorrow."

That earned a grunt from both boys.

* * *

Carl is just sitting in the observation decks reading. He could have picked a better spot to read without all the noises and disturbance but he likes where he is. Particularly, he chooses it because Piers is here, and he hasn't exactly stopped worrying about the heat between him and Andy. So if Marco is accompanying the angry one, Carl wants to provide similar support for the other person, since he does admire the qualities Piers possesses despite being the young kid he is. Gold star, no matter before or after damage is done.

"What's so interesting?" A deep husky voice stirs him from his reading, finding his captain sitting beside him is quite a rare sight.

"Mystery and investigation, sir," Carl holds the book up to let his officer have a clean look at the title, earning an impressed look is a big surprise.

"You never struck me as the studious type." Though after a quick run-through with his statement, Chris finds his words may have implied the opposite effect of what he had tried to express instead. Hence rearranging, "I mean, I thought reading is the last thing any soldier would do in their free time."

"Piers does that too. Reading," Carl answers shortly, now setting his book aside to give his captain due attention. He sort of figured that his captain is going to come to him sooner or later, though impeccably the timing is rather skillfully smacked right in the middle of the duration he proposed in his mind. "Is there something I can do for you, captain?"

Double-checking that he is alone with his soldier, the captain begins his piece in what Carl assumes is his perturbed voice. And to Chris, Carl is the most honest soldier he has ever come across in his entire life.

"What happened when I was out in the infirmary? Specifically, between Andy and Piers." Of course he prefers to use his men's first name, the formality of using family names is just a show for the man by the books.

Carl sighs, an obvious sign that it was anything but mild, or anything less than severe. "They had it at each other."

"Because?"

With a look of plain honesty, much to what the captain would like to think so, comes a face that seems unobliged to answer his how-obvious-can-it-get question. Chris is at a loss; was the dispute meant to be something that he should know?

"Because of you, sir." Carl closes the speculations to further elaborate his point, "Andy believes that Piers is the reason for your injury."

Everyone knows fighting would usually result in disciplinary actions taken, but fighting for the cause of his injury in spite so? Chris is slightly dumbfounded by the news, never once did it occur to him that the reason is all him. He readjusts his position, shifting his body sideways as he draws himself back to a comfortable spot, picturing the possibilities that could have come out of the incident. Another loud snap of a bolt, he loses his focus a little looking through the transparent glass to the lower floor, another bull's-eye.

"How was the argument?" Chris speaks flatly, already in the dilemma if he should call in the incident to remind the boys the discipline expected out of them or to just let them walk away from it.

"Andy insists that it's Piers' solo act resulting it, but Piers' defense is everything happening on field is unpredictable and inevitable. The heat got a little intense and before everyone realizes it, Andy is the first to lash it out. I suppose Piers retaliated in his defense. Although I do think they both have a point…"

"But?" Carl is nervous at his officer's probing, but it is justification for the ace. He skips an eye watching the sniper reloading his magazine before returning to the determined notion set in his mind, no fear.

"I think Piers knows where the fault lies in, sir. He is aware that it is his fault. He has this look that looks… guilty whenever he sees you. All the time."

Just before Carl could further furnish his elaboration, the vibration in Chris' pants puts him on hold as he retrieves the cell phone, a familiar name that probably has already gotten wind of his little accident. He silently signals his departure to his soldier whom nods in acknowledgment and returns the book to his lap. Taking one last look at the silhouette of the sniper, he steps out of the deck to the stairway, slowly walking towards the rooftop.

* * *

"How's the wound coming?"

"Fixed. Not the first day we get injured on field." That's an unspoken truth.

"But the first time you allowed such careless behavior to happen during mission. The report we received clearly indicates the irresponsibility Piers Nivans shouldered. I want to find out what exactly happened, Chris."

"Jill, you were the one who referred him over to Lincoln." With their voices firm in their stand, this might be tough to manage.

"I didn't. Command did, but that's not the point. I just want to know—no, I need to know what happened. Shouldering responsibility like that can write him off like a piece of trash."

Chris is hesitant. Initially when Piers had drafted the report, he had wanted to falsify certain areas to cover up for the boy. It's not a practice he does, but he couldn't deny he felt the need to help his soldier. The ace has unlimited potential and wasting it on something as trivial, in his magnitude, as this is simply demeaning to him. And of course the worst part of it all, he couldn't discuss the plan with the man who goes by the book. They couldn't forge an alliance on this ground on Chris' terms, so even if he changes any details of it, one call from top brass to Piers would have divulged everything. Thus naturally he could only give the document the okay, which brings them to today, on the phone, calling scenes back to Zadar a week ago.

"Then don't write him off. He did what he did to protect his teammates on the frontline. And I did what I did to protect him as well."

Jill goes silent for a moment; this has always been Chris' methodology.

"Just assure me," reassurance is required to minimize the situation. She wants to know what she is about to do is going to be worth it. Command has seriously been reconsidering the transfer because of the incident. After all, they have no patience to nurture potentials even if he may be a talent, top priority always goes to resolving any problem as effectively as pulling a decay tooth regardless. Although Jill knows that there must be a reason for the captain's injury, resultant selfish behaviors are nevertheless not tolerated. That's why she fears the risk she will take depending on his answer. "Is this what you want, Chris?"

En route to her worries, Chris is quick to erase them as well.

"Yeah, I'm sure. The only problem is the stubbornness in his bone. But we can fix that somehow."

Chris' tone is nothing but certain and affirmed, sharp and determined. Jill rests her case, she cannot deny that she likes the boy very much too. His hardheadedness almost reminded her of Chris when he was much younger, like S.T.A.R.S. younger.

"So, what's your plan?" The sudden change to her playful voice surprises Chris, but he guessed that would just mean that the coast is clear for now.

"I…I actually don't know."

"Got him to open up yet? I thought the bear's got some tricks up his sleeve."

"Bears have no sleeves, Jilly." Exasperated, he needs some help at this.

"Then talk to him. Nothing beats having some time together to just talk it out. If he declines, slap the good old 'this is an order!' in his face. That should put him to it." Jill sounds almost too eager to use the authority, maybe earning it after putting her life on the line for almost ten years makes her just wanting to abuse it in every single way she knows of. Every other officer they had prior exploited it rather well, but Chris is determined to break the chain.

"I don't think I should use my authority over him. But I'll see what I can do."

"If all else fails, send in the roses and chocolates! Like you know those Valentines' bear hugging a couple of roses with the chocolate in the buds? You look good in—"

"Goodbye Jilly." And he hangs up on her yet again. What in the world is this woman thinking?

* * *

It took Chris some time to seek a plan and before he knows it, the sun has already set with the nightfall in place. Well technically it's only five in the evening, but the December winter darkens anything after four so… yes, night it is. The captain feels a mild growl in his stomach and decides he should join the guys for dinner, though he can't help but to worry if Piers is eating alone somewhere or if he is even eating at all.

So he detours around the practice range, staring in the booth to find it dark and silent. Convinced that it is empty, he steps out of the building as he ignites another cigarette, the coldness working little effects on the grizzly. As he paces towards the cafeteria, he comes by the library holdout and decides to head in to make another check. Awkwardly enough, he doesn't know if he hopes Piers to be there or not. He's still in the midst of organizing his words in his mind so he doesn't want him there but if he's not, then where the hell should he find him?

Appears not it seems, the failed attempt, only a handful of soldiers residing the mini vault.

Coming out of the second building, Chris tucks his hands into his pockets, concluding his search because he doesn't know where else to find him. He could just pop by the Alpha bunk later to make matters easy, but something inside him doesn't want it to be seen by the other Alphans. It's really stupid, he knows it is though, not that he can shake that perplexing feeling away. He takes a right corner, trudging in the mild layer of snow where he suddenly comes into contact with another person so abruptly that they bump into one another, head on first.

On second look, there he was, his golden ace. Which he then immediately feels a surge of panic running through him if he had known better, he had completely forgotten whatever he was supposed to say.

"Cap-captain." Other than the stuttering to show how equally nervous Piers is, his eyes avert the captain as soon as they meet at first eye contact. And the snow must have berated the ace harshly because he is up to his ears burning red in the cold. His nose is a tinge of pinkness flushing, and this is the first time Chris actually notices how long his eyelashes are for a guy.

"H-hey erm, you gonna have dinner?" The stumble caught Chris at his weakest; he is flustered with the lack of words.

"I'm done, but the others are still inside the cafeteria. You'll be in time to join them." Piers' reply is short but subtle, and his eyes are immediately away at the end of each sentence. His actions are making Chris very conscious of his as well, causing him to look away embarrassingly too. In his defense, he doesn't know why he feels this inept ability to mingle like he usually does whenever he is around the boy, he's usually good with this stuff.

"Why didn't you join them?" His auto-response is one with an answer that he already knows but he supposed it would be good to hear what the boy would say for himself as well.

"I…" When Piers looks back at him, the guilt in his eyes resurfaced all over again, "It's okay, sir. I wanted to go back earlier too."

It must have been the weather getting worse in the night because Chris almost feels suffocated in the wince; the cold numbing in his nose is not helping his case either. The less-than-confident tone in the ace's voice is wearing him down, his art of aversion doing likewise. How embarrassing can this get? God this can't go on any further he swears, someone break this wall already.

"Where are you going tomorrow?" Hence he put the only question in his mind out immediately, cutting straight into the suggestion Jill made hours ago. She can be so darn right at times.

"I should be practicing by the range, sir." Piers replies confidently this time, some of the unspoken pain washed away.

"All day?" Chris can't help but to second ask that.

"Yes…" And thank god he was trailing.

"Meet me at the Section one outpost tomorrow at eight in the morning, err…" he didn't think he would have to resort to this but because he clearly doesn't want to deal with the further questioning or possible decline so… "That's an order."

Though his 'order' may have come a little weak with the voice he portrays. _Some kinda command you've got there captain_, Chris cues to compliment himself.

Piers blinks at his captain, nervous, eyes widen in his scarlet glory at the preposition, "Erm… yes, sir." Does he or anyone ever say no to the captain, honestly? It's impossible to say no, isn't it?

"Good. I will see you tomorrow."

Piers nods as he watches his officer steps away from him, trotting in the direction to the cafeteria. His heart races a little when he recalls the invitation his captain had just thrown at him. That apprehension could leave him sleepless tonight, weighing on both ends of the possibility that either he could miraculously be forgiven or he could jolly well start his punishment as a finale from Command. Although rationally he should be aware that he is most likely plodding on the negative side, he lets his hope get up this time because simply so.

Because simply, using his authority to secure an invitation like this is definitely not the captain's style. Not at all.

* * *

Some tiny celebrity inferences, better than me pulling some fictitious name from thin air, wouldn't it be?


	6. Guide 05: Firsts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_My oh bloody my, this is such a long piece that I could almost stab myself for it. Well here's the first step ordered. Honestly, I have been hounding my friend with my worries about this chapter because this is my first attempt at fluff (considerably fluff). I can't get my mind organized very well, but I want it to flow as realistically as far as their relationship is concerned as of now. Oh god, I hope I don't __disappoint the anticipation, dammit._

_So I hope this is realistically enough? Oh damn, here goes my worries again. Onward, people!_

_P.S. the winners are out! scafeandsalivate tumblr com / post / 35986081413 / my-proud-lovelies_

* * *

_"I will never know, cause you will never show"_  
_— The Cardigans, Carnival_

It is true about the fact that if you let your body clock adjust itself to a specific lifestyle, you will naturally become adaptive to it. This has become a reality for Piers, to be waking up on his first shore leave in the European branch at seven in the morning when he has all the privileges not to. With eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, he clasps the makeshift rug for a blanket close to his body, curling up under it to let his body warmth slowly spread. He peers out of the window to see the snow piling by the frame, the soft glow of the sun glistening over it as the ray shines in. Well it is about time to get ready for that unusual appointment.

Pulling the fleece jacket over his body, he makes sure to take good aim for the worn pair of sneakers on the floor as he slides off his bed onto it, avoiding the cold concrete beneath it. He lands successfully, slipping into the footwear before heading over to his locker, dragging the duffel bag out. Whatever is inside there is considerably a handiwork of his little sister, the one and only Nivans who has had no comments during the announcement dinner about his transfer. While with all her kind intentions in heart, she persistently badgered him the amount of clothes he has to bring because she knows winter is the least of the seasons he favored. Despite how much he had to remove after that, he couldn't deny the fact that they were all kind of proven useful now.

Once satisfied with the fashion he picked, the ace heads down the corridor to the common bathroom, establishing his second first for the day—using the shared facility alone for the first time. Settling his apparels on the bench, he lets the hot water run down his back, carefully avoiding his hair because he has no intentions to let the wet texture walk him like a douche. At least, he doesn't want the captain to see him that way.

Or perhaps, if the punishment comes later as he perceives, then looking less douched would nurse the broken pride much easier it seems.

Then again, if he really supposed there would be a punishment coming later, why did he bother picking the nice clothes in the first place?

To be honest, his mind hasn't actually given him a break ever since the captain asked him out last night. Why yes of course. Piers calls it that way to help him deal with the invisible anxiety caused by his quick-to-respond rationality. He manages to convince himself that the vibe that his captain relayed the night before had been rather harmless. In his rationality's defense, the officer barely used any word instigating provocation. Besides, if it really was a punishment, he would have just called him to his office to deal with it, why bother meeting somewhere else? That's right—he counterattacks the worries inside, slipping into the chestnut lean cargo pants once he was done washing up by the faucet, feeling satisfied—nothing to worry about.

Heck, who said he was worry to begin with? He slept through the night without any problems to begin with!

Grabbing the Prussian knitwear from the bench, he slips both hands through the sleeves before pulling it over his head, the thick material sliding down his skin as he doubles up the insulation with another black Harrington over. He zips the jacket midway and unfolds the upper half, flashing the red-checkered inner design out as he straightens both apparels together. Ready to please, he makes his way back to the faucet to use the mirror for his hairdo. Just the usual will do, no need to go all out to impress anybody he tells himself. Besides, who's there to impress but the captain?

At an instant, Piers finds himself flustered at the ridiculous thought of impressing his captain.

And what do you know? Lo and behold, today is a good hair day after all. The first ever since Lincoln cold.

Armed in his maroon black snow caribous, Piers steps out of the dormitory building walking in the direction of the outpost. The overnight snow has piled up the fields, a beautiful view Piers would like to think as he moves from building to building, avoiding soft grounds for hard pavement. He still has fifteens minutes to spare, timed by his principle to always be earlier than on time. As he approaches the rendezvous point, he notices the morning team has arrived to clear the snow.

Pacing up and down the roadway, he checks the time again, five minutes to eight. He could feel the wait weighing him down for he starts to contemplate the many possible outcomes that may occur after the next five minutes. Perhaps a no-show, or a few higher-ups joining him to announce the verdict, or maybe even just crazy morning training in the cold especially for him. Piers is placing his bets on the last option. The thought of a possible no-show is cracking him up. He doesn't think his captain would resort to this but he is placing his guarantees groundlessly. Even if he doesn't show, Piers knows he could just head back to the practice range to perfect his aim and pretend nothing has ever been arranged. But his captain's voice continues to resonate his invitation and he finds himself helplessly hoping for it to come true.

"Hey!" And sometimes hoping hard for something does make it real.

When Piers turns to find the source, he sees the shape of a large man running across the snow in the field, half of his denim painted in white as the man trudges through the shortcut. A sense of relief washes through the sniper but he gives none of it away. The man he knows as captain drags his feet out the snow once he approaches the end of the field, dusting the speckles away from the fabric and knocking the white remnants off his coffee-colored old red wings. Piers is slightly taken aback by his officer in his casual attire, a gray buttoned Henley under the bitter green Rushmore jacket. Probably the casualness has taken a few years off his face, Piers thought the captain looks good out of his uniform.

At the thought of that, he instantly turns away from his captain's smiling greeting face, a little embarrassed by the kind of weird thoughts plaguing him.

"You're early," Chris glances at his watch, "and I'm just on time."

"I arrived not too long ago too, sir," well fifteen minutes is not too early, right?

"Well then, let's not waste the day any further," so the captain points towards the parking lots due north of their position pacing towards it, "my car's over there."

Piers blinks, he didn't know the captain had a car.

* * *

They took the same road to the secluded bar only this time, Chris runs past the right turn and continues the lonely stretch. Piers remembers the seatbelt this time! Inside the Wrangler is nothing but silence, not even soft music from the local radio stations. Piers wonders if he should call for it, the awkwardness is well… awkward.

"Do you need the radio?" Then as though his captain has read his mind, the question adhering to his needs surprises him.

"Err… sure, if it doesn't bother you." Oh god please say no.

"No problem." Piers secretly yells inside his head, lady luck is on his side today.

Even with the soft melodies of an oldies station breathing through the vehicle, both parties seem equally nervous for one is busy staring at the forestry to his left while the other looks dead straight at the quiet road ahead. Being the captain he is, Chris is aware that he should perhaps try to lighten the atmosphere with a few casual questions he practiced. In an attempt to recover his discomposure from the night before, he stayed up planning a list of useful questions he could use before cutting into the main topic. As far as that is concerned, he finds his preparation going to waste because he is as stumbled as he was before right now.

What is with this damned nervousness whenever he is around Piers?

"Err… sir?" Therefore, when Piers decides to take the lead in icebreaking, Chris couldn't be more thankful than this. "Are the others not joining us?"

"No. It's just you and me today."

The sniper finds his ears reacting to those words in a heated rhapsody.

"T-they have their own plans?" And stutter is the result of that tingle.

"Well believe it or not, the boys always hang out with Carl on their shores. And there's only one place Carl visits on his shore most of the time."

In face to that, Piers responds with the most intense pair of 'enlighten me' eyes he could portray, waiting to be enlightened like so.

"His ex-wife's. Carl's ex-wife is a British staying not too far from here." That earned the first surprised look Chris has ever seen from the ace's face. "Mutual divorce though, they're good friends now. She's a beautiful catch, Carl had been lucky."

"Why the divorce then?"

"Our career is not the promising kind that most wives can be understanding about. The long periods apart took a toll on her. When she needed Carl's company most, he wasn't there. It's no surprise it eventually didn't work out." Piers could tell that the emotion hidden inside his captain's voice is empathy, he probably felt somewhat responsible that the marriage failed. That is just the way his captain is.

"I didn't know that…" Despite the attention Carl gives him, Piers notices how little he knows about his closest teammate, well closest amongst the rest.

"No hard feelings, it's been some time after all. Getting back in touch with her after his transfer was considerably a pleasant surprise for him. He likes the friendship they have now and it's going well." Glancing over to Piers, the ace appears to be deep in thought, with what Chris would like to think of it as his urge to know the other soldier better. Supporting the fact, "Though, it'll be nice if you could talk to him on a personal level too. I'm sure he would like that too."

Piers nods, unconsciously murmuring his silent thoughts out just as the music dies down from the radio, "Maybe I could talk to you too." He jolts alarmed as soon as he is aware of his blunder, hastily covering over his lines, "I-I mean! That's not what I mean, sir. I mean no disrespect towar—"

"Oh, it's okay. I'd like to get to know you more too."

Gasping, the ace feels the heat returning to his ears.

* * *

Arriving in the heart of Lincolnshire, the duo leaves the car at an open lot while Chris leads him through the beautiful town, passing by the bricked English architectures that left Piers in amazement. This is his first trip to England after all.

"And here we are." When Piers snaps back to reality, he finds himself standing before one particular quaint restaurant behind the glass display he peers into. The High Bridge shop fronts of black and white are simply astounding. He couldn't stop looking around like a little child. Until when he notices Chris holding the black wooden door at the entrance for him, he flusters in his running steps to have kept his captain waiting, apologizing for his complacent behavior. Chris smiles at it, shaking it off like the good man he is, insisting that he knows it is hard to stay out of distraction in a beautiful place like this. Cueing to the waiter, the staff sits them both by the window table where Piers appears to have been caught staring in earlier, a generous view of prominent English town.

"Good day, gentlemen. Please take your time to consider our menu and I will get back to you shortly."

Chris nods as he hands the menu to Piers, who tries out of goodwill to let his captain have first pick. And as usual, he loses the battle.

"I already know what I want. Go on and take your time, though I highly recommend the steak here."

At the sound of steak, Piers' reaction is almost as instant as it comes, "Oh? Then I'll have that."

Chris laughs, figuring that might have been a favorite of his soldier judging by the fact that he doesn't even bother looking through the menu any further. Piers looks a little lost, but he is not going to probe just to clear the air for that.

Once the waiter returns to the kitchen with their orders in hand, Chris begins to process his thoughts again. Apparently the three-hour drive wasn't enough time to finalize his speech, he constantly finds himself losing track of the conversation he is supposed to have with Piers. How does he intend to string the topics together to bring his point across or how should he direct their conversation to the subject? Looking at Piers, the boy looks contended, excited even, exploring outside the walls they stayed in most of the time. In a weird time like this, the ace reminds him of a puppy, loyal and protective to the team and now, eager and elated to be in a new environment. Does he really want to ruin the atmosphere by dragging the topic down to earth? No doubt he needs to get the unity in his team back on its feet though, Chris is at his wits' end figuring how he should go about it without ruining this wonderful day.

"Captain?" This time Pier's voice stirs him back to present.

"Yeah?" Chris hymns in response when he sees Piers pushing his cup of coffee to him, introducing the sugar into the drink altogether.

"One cube of sugar with no milk," the ace puts the canister away as he goes back to his lukewarm lemon tea, sipping the aroma slowly.

"How do you know that?" The captain is astonished; he doesn't recall anyone paying attention to his taste.

Stirring the lemon around in his tea, Piers then puts his teaspoon away before he answers softly, "Got you coffee once, remembered ever since."

Chris smiles to himself, determined to pay equal attention to his soldier as he sips the coffee. The ace doesn't need to outshine any further than this, "I'll try to remember warm lemon tea with three teaspoons of syrup."

Piers doesn't know if he should be smiling at that. So he doesn't.

* * *

The meal was pleasant, much to what the ace would like to think until he started a fight with his captain when it came to the bill. The captain had been insistent that the lunch was a welcome meal from him to Piers, but Piers didn't think there was a need for it. If only he hadn't step away to use the restroom, none of this would have happened. In fact, he didn't think something like this would possibly happen at all.

And there he is, the captain, just standing next to a bicycle stand smoking as though nothing has happened. This is his fifth try, and to hell with it if he is going to decline him again.

"Please captain, let me pay for my share."

"I already said. This is just a simple gesture from me to welcome you into the team. Just accept it."

Unfortunately, this isn't Piers' wounded pride acting but rather his stubborn principle disapproving the action so with the wallet in his hand, he immediately pulls a couple of notes out with the intention to return to his captain when he suddenly feels something warm grabbing his hands. Looking at it, he sees the officer's hand pushing his hands down, the mild gesture making him slightly flinched at their contact, feeling the heat directly from his captain for the first time.

His hand is much warmer than the jacket he last borrowed.

"Don't," the intensity in Chris' eyes startles Piers. He almost stepped away from him when he finds himself looking away awkwardly. "There're more things to look at along that way, c'mon."

There is an odd exchange of glances when their hands separated. It may be brief, but it was certainly there. And certainly, both soldiers are not about to discuss the strange discovery evolving in his minds at the same time.

For Piers liked the rugged warmth on his cold hands.

And for a moment, Chris thought Piers has a pair of hands that fitted well in his.

* * *

"Are you going to get some gifts to send home for your first away thanksgiving?"

Weaving through the open-air bazaar, Chris sees Piers standing before an accessory stall looking at the dainty jewelry available. The captain thought they were pretty lucky to be able to visit the day market since the snow has yet to hit town. He then supposed he too should get some gifts for Jill and Claire back in the States while the other is at it.

Piers picks a few bracelets from a small basket on the table before he hands it to the old lady, turning to find his captain gazing around the nearby booths as well, "Yes. Would you be doing likewise too, captain?"

It is kind of hard to say no at a situation like this having the question thrown right back in his face so Chris has no choice but to say yes, despite gifts being an unspoken rule between him and Claire that there is no formality to it. He makes an escape for it, signaling to the general area that he will be in should Piers be done before he is. The ace nods, walking away in the opposite direction for more gift hunting.

Chris finds himself staring blankly at the booths, none of which seems appropriate for either of the girls he has in mind. Gifts are not exactly his forte, especially not since he has gotten any after joining the B.S.A.A.. Time is a luxury that he could never afford to spend on shopping, he would usually trade it for sleep. So doing likewise, he would just have to kill time until Piers is done.

But that was before he spots a distant shop on the far end of the street with mittens and gloves hanging on the display panel. He makes a move for it, entering the cozy shop selling all sorts of winter accessories to fight the cold. Well the good part about being a furnace is that he doesn't need most of what they are having for sale, though there are not many who are as privileged as he is. People who are usually weak against the cold, falling sick easily in the bad season and such… then it hit him.

Someone he could get a gift for. For no apparent goddamn good reason he knows of, but he wants to.

Gloves perhaps? His hands were cold, weren't they? But they do have combat gloves to put on during outfield. Or maybe earmuffs? Okay that was stupid. Maybe he needs a winter coat. The flannel fabric he is wearing right now doesn't seem to be doing the work. See? This is the problem with Christmas shopping. Chris chastises himself, too many unknown possibilities.

"How can I help you, young lad?" Oh the captain knows he is far from being a young lad he once was, but the amiable grandpa senior has been too polite that it warrants Chris to purchase anything from his shop.

"I'm thinking of getting a gift for a…" Chris had to pause to find a suitable word to describe him, "…friend. He's easily affected by the cold but things like gloves or caps are not suitable for his work. Do you have any recommendations?"

The shopowner grins, "I have just the right thing for you." He then leads Chris to the corner of his shop away from the entrance, to a shelf filled with colorful fabrics. Woolen woven fabrics. "These are best against the cold. They retain heat and are very comfortable to wear. Suitable for both men and women, fashionable too. Easy on the eyes and are very compact to keep when not in used."

Chris touches the material before he looks through the pile, searching for the appropriate color that has his attention. It didn't take him very long before he comes across one that felt right. It is just blind guessing since he doesn't know this person's preferences at all, but something in his gut felt right. Deciding on the apparel, he requests the shopowner to pack it as compact as it could possibly get after making payment for it. The old man sure made it small, wrapping the gift in simple brown parcel paper before handing it to Chris, whom subsequently hides it in his jacket pocket effortlessly.

All he has to do now is return to his allocation point before anyone finds out his little shopping trip. Specifically, referring to the only person with him.

* * *

Returning to his Wrangler to settle down the purchases, Chris suggests heading east to a jetty where the scenery, in his opinion, is one that shouldn't be missed for the world. Piers subtly agrees to it, much to Chris' delight, because they are going to have another hour's journey before arriving at said destination. He must get it over and done with now.

"I know there's a little… conflict between you and Andy."

Piers almost felt his heart dropped. Here it comes.

"I'm not exactly interested to find out whose fault it is but there is one thing I need to be firm with you. Remember that night when you came to visit me in the infirmary? What did I tell you?"

Can this get any harder? Piers feels like a student being ticked off by his teacher, "I need to keep my pride… away from our missions, sir."

"Have you done it?"

Should his officer have some mercy, because Piers doesn't get the point he is driving at, "I've not jeopardized anything since… sir."

"Then why have you not spoken to Andy yet?" Chris doesn't let his eyes leave the road when he questions each time, keeping his voice leveled. As mentioned, he has no intention to reprimand anybody.

And Piers is looking for the right reason to defend himself, "I can't when he's not trying too, sir."

Chris nods at that, knowing Andy is not making this easier for either of them. Still, that doesn't mean Piers has done his part thorough like he should because the captain knows that is his pride standing in his way. "So if he doesn't try, you don't try either?"

'Yes' is the only answer forming in the ace's mind. Hence, silence serves as the better option.

Sighing, Chris moves his vehicle to the side of the vacant road and stops it there, pulling the handbrake back as he turns to look at Piers with what seems like a concerned look under his stoic features.

"Command wanted to write you off." The ace sets his heart ready for the truth incoming, "But I stopped them. With some help of course but yes, I stopped them," which isn't what Piers had expected.

"Do you know why I did that?"

Piers shakes his head, looking at his officer trying to collect his thoughts before he turns away from him again.

"I did it because you're worth it." Hearing something like this forces Piers to look back at Chris in the eye to listen to what he has to say. It's not everyday everybody gets to hear themselves being valued verbally—it creates strength.

"Everybody in Lincoln, especially in Alpha, knows how much of an asset you are to the branch. You're smart, earnest, hardworking and attentive. Your qualities are what makes you valuable the way you are, Piers. But there's only one thing holding you back and I'm not talking about your pride. What I'm talking about is your inability to accept failure.

"You always feel that you have everything under control. That is why when I got injured then, you panicked. You don't have to say it you don't even have to show it, but you did panic. You start blaming yourself for the injury on me even when I was the one who decided my own actions. You feel guilty for an injury not caused directly by you. Why do you feel that way?"

Chasing back the bloodied image of his captain, Piers gasps at the thought of it, "It was… it was my negligence, sir."

"But that wasn't what you told Andy, was it?" Chris is ripping his mask, he is stripping him bare of the pride that he holds so dearly, "Why put up such a strong front then and apologize to me after? Why didn't you choose either and just stick with it?"

The ace is dumbfounded. He feels unraveled by his actions coming back at him. He continues to feel even more so when his captain leans forward to him, staring deep into his eyes.

"Why don't you dare to be truthful to yourself, or with all of us? Whose expectations are you forcing yourself to live for?" Chris knows he is drifting off his topic but he knows he is getting somewhere with his coercing, he really wants to know what Piers is hiding from him. "I don't need the perfect ace. I only need what is ideal for the team."

Piers wants to say something but he finds his voice stuck in his throat. He knows he needs to say something, if not anything at all, faced with his captain's ultimatum. He doesn't know why he feels this unknown sense of fear crawling up, doesn't know why he is suddenly fighting to stay in Alpha.

"You don't have to be perfect for anybody, Piers. You need only be yourself."

And with that, Piers breaks down. Tears keep running down his face, in his frustration, he couldn't even stop them even if he wanted to. He never once resented anything he has done in his life, never once regretted the things he sacrificed to perfect whatever he has accomplished thus far in life, never once felt remorseful for any decisions he has ever made in his life. His family was the reason that kept him going, pushing him to excel better and further. His father would have been proud of whatever he has achieved, and he felt equally satisfied. But everything changed after he arrived at Lincoln, after he joined Alpha, and especially after he got acquainted with one Chris Redfield. They made him rethink about the way he has been dealing with his life, which in turn makes him face the actions he has taken, the ideas he has fostered. He is no longer too sure if he knows what he has been doing all this time, or rather if he had been doing them for himself.

Had he been chasing the shadow of someone who never existed? Why did he feel compelled to be completed by perfection?

Making Piers cry is definitely not Chris' intention. Watching him cry is definitely not his style either. So quickly stepping out of his car, not that he knows where did the spur came from, he paces over to the passenger side to open his door. Piers is just sitting there pain stricken, quite possibly by his unplanned speech. Well done, captain. Well fucking done.

At a loss for words, Chris loosens the seatbelt quickly before he drags the boy's stiff body out of his position, pulling him into a mild embrace as he pats his back gently. Piers continues to lie rigidly in his captain's arms until he began to feel the furnace working his magic on him, the warmth melting away the loneliness gathered inside. When Chris feels the tight grip of hands on his sleeves, he heaves a sigh of relief hearing the soft sobs escaping from the ace's muffled whimpers. He only continues to pat his back gently, the only comfort he knows to offer at a time like this.

"I…I'm sorry… captain… …" There is something different about this apology from the usual ones and Chris immediately stops him from continuing. He didn't mean to scare the boy, oh god not at all.

"There, there. I could have been a little too harsh but you know I mean what I say. You hear me, soldier?"

The buried face in his shoulders nods once.

"Now promise me you'll really be yourself from now on. No more hiding, Piers."

He nods again after some hesitation, though his crying slowly comes to a halt after he finally registers the captain had just called him by his first name for the first time.

* * *

After suffering the tormenting car journey to the jetty in all silence, to Chris' biggest and wildest delight, he sees a carnival in sight not far from their destination. What better way to cheer his boy up than this? Perhaps it is God's way to let Chris redeem himself.

"Let's go there." Chris suggests, pointing to the brightly lit area.

Although the lament has subsided, Piers didn't think the captain would take him to a carnival without a reason. "You want to…?" His voice is still meek and delicate, and for that Chris feels a pinch somewhere inside.

"More of, we need to. C'mon now." The ace could only quietly follow behind the captain.

It has been years since Piers has ever stepped foot into a carnival, last being his effort to take his sister out before he enrolled into the military. Watching the little children running past him takes him back to memory lane, as far as his childhood days where he spent doing likewise with his elder brother. It was a beautiful memory, one of the rare moments his father had the opportunity to take the family out amidst his busy schedule, and Piers would always feel proud looking at his father in his military uniform. He aspired to be like so, which he thought he did by now, though whatever his captain had previously said seems to have taken it all away at once, confusion disarming him.

Speaking of which, where has the captain gone? Piers is now standing beside a carousel looking at the couples in line, in search of the captain who would have lingered out of his sight. A pair of young male couple seems to be checking him out, he could feel their gaze from the corner of his eyes and it was giving him goosebumps. Where on earth is his captain anyways? He'd better not bailed out on him.

"Hey!" The familiar voice came from a direction behind him as he watches the captain running around the carousel, holding something suspicious in his hand foretelling him that that isn't what he think it is.

But when Chris comes back to him, his suspicions are right.

"Cotton ca-candy?" Piers has to stutter at the utter embarrassment of two grown men holding one cotton candy in between them. This by then is how he notices the same male couple whispering amongst themselves before getting onto the available ride. This feels so wrong.

Yet he couldn't suppress a silly sense of happiness welling inside him.

"They say the easiest way to cheer someone is to give them something sweet to eat."

"I think that only works for children… sir."

"You're still a child," Chris snickers at this one but Piers isn't going to back from a rebuttal like that.

"A child who is manning your paperwork… sir." The sarcasm almost hits his funny bone but Piers is again fast to tame it.

"Guess we're children then," and Chris puts a strand of the candy into his mouth before shoving the remains to Piers, "Well eat up. The children around would be jealous of your luxurious candy because you're lucky I was willing to buy it for you."

Looking at the officer chomping down the diabetic candy in grimace, Piers supposed it wouldn't be this bad to help him after all, even if he has been secretly smirking inside.

So after getting rid of the candy, the tour around the carnival continues. As enjoying as that may be, what Piers truly enjoys is listening to his captain while he makes small talk with him. The senior has been attentive to his needs ever since they step foot in, which Piers assumes that is his way to make up for the awkward situation they were in earlier. Thinking about it, he feels surprised at the fact that Chris could so easily move his emotions without him realizing it. Words that could make him cry, smile, calm him down or even feel guilty about. No one had been capable of that until now.

Why does he feel anxious to react to what his captain says to him? Or rather, how is this happening?

"… so that was how I got out of college to join the Air Force. What about you?"

"Err… I'm sorry?" Dazing is not something that often happens to him either.

Thankfully, the captain is always patient to repeat, "I said, what about you? Why did you choose this path?"

Now this is awkward for Piers. He doesn't think being upfront and telling that one of his main sources of motivation actually came from the captain himself is anything spectacular. Maybe he could use something else to cover it up, but that was when he recalled he said something remotely confessional that he aspired to be like Captain Redfield during his initial interview when enrolling. Did he just dig his own grave?

"My family has been a line of military servicemen, I think it was natural that I follow suit." He would just have to walk this slowly.

"So this is not what you've always wanted to do?"

"No, it is. Besides, I have just the role model that I aspire to be." There, that should do the trick. And he's not even lying about it!

"I hope he's not some Captain Bearfield for the record," Chris laughs at his self-proclaimed title.

Piers bites his tongue at that one but with all honors in intelligence, he takes the reversal smartly, "Incidentally, field is part of his name."

And it is pleases Piers to see his officer looking away slightly choking on his honesty in a bashful glow.

For Chris, he is not going to take the advancement down without a battle. The shooting gallery seems like a perfect showdown. Smirking, he signals to his ace to follow him to the booth where he knocks a couple of notes into the game owner's hand to get it started.

On the wall of the gaming booth is a marked cabinet with three shelves filled with target medals. The shooting aid is an air shotgun, probably weighing about ten pounds and equipped with ammo for ten shots. Prizes given are according to the number of targets shot down during each try within one minute. The small prize would require five, the medium seven and the large nine. There is also a star prize if one could attain all twenty medals in two tries because a perfect score in the first game would be entitled to one additional free game. However should you choose to opt for the additional free game and fail the challenge, the previous winning entitlement would be forfeited as well.

"Game for the challenge, ace?" Chris grins, nothing better than a friendly competition between two known sharpshooters.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, captain."

As soon as the games began, to the game owner's horror, both soldiers have perfected the scoreboard on the first try in the fastest record he has ever encountered. The crowds gather, watching both aces continuously shooting the targets down with professionalism in their second round. They are both on equal scores now, rushing for the finale with only twenty seconds left on the clock. The audience is anticipatory, nobody has ever seen the star prize before it seemed.

Just as Piers is about to take his final shot, he catches sight of a little girl standing in the front row being pushed down by the growing crowd behind. Out of reflex, he drops the gun to help the child before she falls face first onto the ground. She cries almost instantly but before she gradually tears everybody's eardrums apart, Piers carries her in his arms and pats her back gently, hushing and soothing her agony away when he recalls the captain doing the same to him just a few hours ago.

Chris clears the requirement at the sound of the bell. Just as he plans to tease his ace, he turns to see the boy handing a child in his hand to a crying lady. Subsequently, his face changes into a serious mood, seemingly to be reprimanding the lady before she bows apologetically, taking the child away as Piers waves goodbye at the little one. At about the same time, he is presented with the star prize and a low buzz of envy sounds from behind. Chris is smiling to himself at the sight of it before he thanks the owner for the games and heads over to reunite with his ace.

"For a job well done, this is your reward ace."

When Piers recalls abandoning the game, he is quick to defend that he didn't exactly lose the match until he sees the supposed star prize. He almost gasps at the sight of it.

"Captain, I… I don't—"

"You don't like a cuddly human-sized grizzly bear plush with a heart stitched right on its heart? You're hurting the bear community here, Piers."

That particular comment left the ace flushing insanely, though he figures that the captain is giving it to him to avoid the embarrassment of holding it on his own.

"It'll keep you warm in the night," the captain wriggles the bear's arms before he shoves it into the ace's hands, "I'll let you keep it as your private stash in bunk."

Piers rolls his eyes at that one, oh goddamn the captain.

Now moving through the carnival with one insanely huge bear plush in his hands while another walking side by side with him, Piers is even more aware of the suggestive looks the visitors are throwing at him so he is now frantically hiding behind the plush. Seeing Chris is oblivious to the crowd, Piers only wished he could be as dense as he is. He could also tell the females in the vicinity are really envious of him with his make-believe boyfriend of a captain. He winces inwardly at the thought of it—did he really just use the word boyfriend on the captain?

"Looks like they're closing. We should leave too, it's a long drive back." Chris cues to the entrance that they came from where majority has already begun to leave. On departure, Piers couldn't help but notice the little girl whom he helped previously standing alone at the waiting bay again. He moves off from his captain and heads over to her side, her eyes boring holes into the bear in his hands. She doesn't hesitate to caress the fur of the toy, and Piers could just see his little sister in her.

"You like it?" He asks softly. Although she is nervous to answer, she slowly dips her head once to express her interest.

And with that, Piers is quick to shove the toy into the child's hands, the toy fully enveloping her tiny body beneath it. The mirth in her eyes are as beautiful as the ones he remembered from his sister so looking at it now, a gentle smile creeps up his face without him realizing. "Take care of it."

While the girl nods aggressively at his request, a black car pulls up before them and he sees the same lady coming out of her car to pick the child. She greets Piers once while she brings her child to the car, stuffing the plush into the backseat with her as well. Piers watches the vehicle drives off in the night, the first gift he has ever received from his captain along with it.

"You should do that more often, you know?" Chris' voice breaks his space when he finds the captain standing beside him, hands tucked into his pockets.

"I'm sorry?" while Piers is a little confused at his remark.

"Smile. That was the first time I ever see you smile." His comment is as genuine as his voice portrays it to be and it catches Piers completely off guard in the shy zone. Truth be told, Chris knows he likes what he just saw. "You should do it more often."

And when he says he like what he just saw, he included the shy zone as well.

Trying to composure himself at the random outburst, Piers tries to calm himself as much as he could but seemingly, God decides otherwise. With the sudden rush of a bicycle sneaking beside him, he slips to the side of the road where he felt the firm grip of two hands steadying him from falling. When he looks up, like really look up with his cold-shaken berated face, he sees his captain face first, and every minute detail of his features etched deeply into his mind at their close proximity. He continues to examine it, so much so that he doesn't even know he has been holding his breath while doing so. His captain's hands are always so warm, even through the double layers he wears and something about it makes him flushed even harder. He cannot deny that his warmth can be so addictive.

And to make matters worse, he couldn't tear himself away from looking at his captain's chapped lips.

Unbeknownst to him, Chris is staring at the exact same thing as he is. Piers' youthful full lips.

Fortunately or not, the sound of an incoming car horn separates them from their momentary phase as they are forced back into reality. Piers looks away in parallel contempt when he felt his heartbeat racing for the first time for the unknown attraction he finally acknowledges. Chris does the same too, rubbing the back of his hair before he suggests bringing the car around while Piers waits for him here. He agrees instantaneously, appreciating the goodwill that they both know needed.

Once Chris is out of the ace's sight, he lets out a heavy sigh as he calms himself down, almost hearing the heartbeat thumping in his head. Although Piers is afraid to think about the feelings he has just experienced moments ago, he brings himself to it, trying his best to rationalize the situation which he couldn't. Because feelings are irrational, uncontrollable and he knows, they always happen at the most unexpected moments. To support that, how did the damned bicycle appear out of thin air? And how did he land in his captain's arms as conveniently as that? At the topic of the captain again, all he could think of now is the smile brandishing across his face when he said that.

That loving glow when he said he likes him smiling for the very first time.

* * *

About time, isn't it?!

_**A/N:** Well I think I should make it clear since Mrs Nivanfield has made a good point pointing it out to me, which after some consideration I think I should be clear here to avoid misunderstandings. (Thanks, my dear!) _

_When I indicated Piers hearing Chris calling him by his first name for the first time, I know it is not true because Chris has done that before, right before the crying. Well in my mind when I wrote it, placing feelings for Piers, he would be in a nervous and stressed state due to the 'confrontation' coming from his captain that things like names aren't exactly captured in his mind. Then he breaks down, let loose of all those emotions in the midst and finally, when he calms down in Chris' embrace, he finally registers it for the last time. Think of it as when you're feeling very down and you've cried a hell lot, when someone offers you comfort and warmth, you naturally let yourself be aware of anything that is unusually calming to you which in Piers' case at this point, would be his name_.


	7. Guide 06: Trying

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_Thank you for the all flattering reviews on the previous chapter! I'm glad the factors are panning out just right where it should be, and that you guys are patiently walking this through with me._

_Now getting all the tissues and teary-eyes out of our way, we are finally moving into the attraction phase between our two heroes. Well I won't say it will be easy because it ain't. Conversations will become harder to write and the need to keep check of the evolving feelings to their original characters (personas) of the character is even more important now than ever. Well, thanks to the great Mrs Wesker I mentioned before, she helps to keep me in check. _

* * *

_"And I feel so satisfied when I can see you smile  
I, I want to confide in all that is true  
So I'll keep on tryin', I'm through with lyin'"  
— Poco, Keep on Tryin'_

The question is, why did he buy this thing?

Taking a break in the midst of his report typing, Chris now stares at the little brown parcel on his table. The winter is harsh this year, or it may have always been like this in England much to the captain's ignorance. He is thankful that he managed to stop Piers' harraging before the snow had gotten worse, chances are letting the ace bunk in his office would result in him waking up with sores and aches all over. Well he does have his room somewhere on the upper floors but, where would his manners be to ask his subordinate to use his room as he pleases? No doubt Charlie Leader would come next harraging to coach him on a lesson on how to use his authority effectively.

Chris presses the bridge of his nose, sighing, then there is this thing.

Honestly now, how the spur came about is the lesser worry he has because right now this moment, his bigger problem would be how he intends to present it to him.

Ben has secretly planned a Christmas party, well considerably still a secret if you exclude the higher-ups from everyone else in the picture. A party animal's gotta do what a party animal's gotta do he says, which in plain Alpha understanding meant girls and more girls, booze and more booze. To avoid trouble however, Chris manages to limit the perimeters within the closer bunch of soldiers, the thought of Charlie Leader catching in on them terrifies him. It felt like a priest walking in on hormone-raging teenagers making out in the mass hall in the middle of the night and only god knows what will happen next.

So as you can see, the problem clear as day would be handing the gift. This tiny little parcel, moving from Chris' hands into his hands in the eyes of everybody as the only one entitled to a gift other than being the first person to actually receive one from him since Man learnt how to type, is phenomenal. It would be much easier if he had just chucked the present away and pretended it never existed but thinking about him, he couldn't bring himself to.

Oh please. Listen him say, _thinking about him_, Chris almost chokes on his black coffee. He shakes his head at the foreign idea, grabbing the parcel on the table and throws it into the first drawer before slamming it shut. An alarm goes off from his cell phone telling him it's already eleven, that he should probably hit the sack. So putting the paperwork aside, he closes the door behind before returning to his room. Benefits of being captain as far as his room got to, privacy at a time now is most needed.

All for a damn Christmas present he wanted to surprise him with.

* * *

Marco is just going through the names of the new recruits under his coaching when he sees Carl coming in the distance, hands with documents and filers. He didn't know Carl was put to take care of the rookies as well.

"Rookie training?" Marco stops before Carl, distracting him from his train of thoughts.

Carl looks up, in a haste to communicate, "yeah, didn't think they would put me to man combat training. Gonna have to oversee their training for the next three months or so."

"That wasn't surprising. Your HTH has always been best among all of us."

Carl laughs, "And that's being cliché. I'm sure everyone's equally good."

"Except capin, he'll whoop anyone's ass any day, anytime."

Then the image of a certain captain drifts to their mind, arms rippling with muscles screaming the daylights out of the new rookies sends a chill down their back. Marco looks suspiciously at Carl, who returns guilty of his thoughts sends both of them in a frenzy of wild laughter, backs bending and knees giving out. It reminded them of Charlie leader sending flocks of new recruits into the field just a couple of days ago burning them under the cold. That senior Nazi wannabe always has the worst kinds of training prepared in the midst of his yelling, his unforeseen mild octave screaming that always left the Alpha boys laughing. Except for Piers, which explains his great fond of love for the boy like the son he never had.

"Be thankful the captain's nothing like the Nazi," Carl graciously reminds, slotting the loose papers into the filers he holds.

"You bet. I wouldn't last a day like that. Maybe only Piers could," Marco cringes at thought of it.

"Or maybe Andy, but he's probably gonna like round out with bruises by the old captain with his temper."

Stark, the clash of their names stops the boys in their tracks, a shift in the mood weighs in the air. It has been two weeks since the incident but neither party has attempted to make any interaction with one another. Despite some persuasion has been made over at his ex-wife's place, Andy's resilience to the prep talk had been one of the worst encountered leaving Carl only to save his breath. Marco had given the warning then, but he was just too concerned with the situation to resign to it.

"Still the same old, huh?" Marco routes the question up like a daily topic.

"Looks the same to me."

"Tonight's the celebration. I'm kinda counting on Piers to give some leeway considering it's his day after all."

Carl sighs, "I'm kinda worried he doesn't even want him there."

Shirking the distress, Marco brings a hand hard onto Carl's back, chasing the negativity away in the startle, "C'mon, it's tradition. Every Alpha must be there. He's got no damn say in this, the capin won't let him."

Well that's a fact that they can at least pin their hopes onto.

* * *

They don't know what it is called but it is a commemorative birthday drink almost every soldier needs to have on their birthday. It works by filling half a pint of porter in a glass, followed by double shots of whiskey, gin, rum, port and brandy. While porter is a rarity in the States thus often replaced, they are fortunate the stout originates from the much easily accessible to London now. Some of the older soldiers said it came from a tradition in Texas, while some other claimed Tennessee having first light though nobody actually knew its history. It didn't matter much, so long it tasted good, no one really bothered with its roots.

Eyes watching, everyone's waiting, sits the beer cocktail in front of Andy, the announced birthday boy for the night. Fellow comrades have come over shaking hands and buddy hugs, and they didn't need to have a name to begin with. A military culture between men one would like to think, it is always better to make a friend than a foe at any circumstances.

When it comes to making friends, no one beats the captain at it. He apparently just bought one round on the house in celebration of Andy's birthday. His spirits are hyped as always, people are cheering and singing good old-fashioned birthday songs, the merriment is up and rising for the evening. After some casual greetings of hi-byes, Chris finally finds his way back to the table where the boys are waiting, a palm-sized Vatrushka topped with raisins and a candle on it prepared by the barmaid in his hand. Birthday cakes are way over their league now, but a simple pastry like this would perhaps suffice the tradition of it.

A birthday boy's got to have his birthday wish no matter how old he is.

"I think you've had enough birthday songs," Chris laughs as he slides into the seat next to Andy, placing the plate on the table before him. "You know the drill."

Andy glances all around, all smiling eager faces but one looking back at him, waiting for him to make the wish. Closing his eyes, he reads his wish aloud in his mind, hoping for nothing more than the safety of his friends and family, the boys of Alpha and their captain, with or without the grudge hanging. He doesn't yearn for anything more, he only wishes to treasure what is most important to him in his line of duty. The captain taught him that.

Blowing the candle out, the boys applaud like the end of a theatrical play, Ben tossing one arm over Andy's shoulder pulling him into a nasty tug of rough arm and fist. Marco laughs at the boys while Carl dips in for another swig of his beer, cornering his attention to Piers who sits beside him, lips tight looking at the mug on his table with nowhere else to divert his attention too. Apparently the captain has noticed the behavior as well, the combat specialist sees him watching the ace intently, eyes ever looking up from the mug latched to his mouth. The two has yet to make any eye contact as far as they have observed, though neither have they tried to start a fight or any sort. Maybe this night is just going to go without much of the hitch they are worried about.

Or maybe the captain has just decided this isn't how the night is going to go out.

With a swift kick, he jolts Piers out of his distraction with his foot as the ace stirs around, looking deadpan at his captain for the rude behavior he just displayed. The look on Chris' face is nothing short of seriousness, burrowing his brows before he rights his head pointing at Andy in a small tilt, expecting Piers to do something about it. Yes, do something about that wall they have built.

"Right, so Andy, Piers has something to say to you."

The captain's message instantly stops everyone in their tracks, whether if it is Andy eating his birthday pastry or Ben messing around with Marco, everyone just stopped. This obviously doesn't make it easier for Piers, for he is now horrifically stunned by his captain's action because he doesn't have a damn clue what he should be saying. Cocking a squinting eye at the captain is only making matters worse for himself, the officer is playing dumb with the beer he holds by dodging his vision sideways.

_Way to get my back there, captain,_ Piers inwardly mocks.

"Oh?" Stopping his munching, Andy drops his head leftwards with a curve on his lips that clearly feigns interest in what the ace has to say, "the ace has some birthday messages for me? This I gotta hear."

Piers knows a scoff when he hears one, and certainly knows a quip if he needs one, "Well as a matter of fact, I do. Thanks to the captain for bringing it up."

Chris almost choked on that one.

"Well, shoot. I ain't got all day."

In a quick filter through all the nasty remarks Piers could throw back at the senior, he stops at one, beaten and brazen, in the faux articulation he narrated in his mind, "it is our honor to be here celebrating your birthday. Although this may be a simple gathering, we know it is one of the most treasured moments where we get to be more than a soldier on the field but also a comrade and a friend who would extend his hand whenever you need it. Therefore tonight, we bring a toast to the many men of valor and courage, whom have gone and returned like yourself and everyone here, that we be blessed with the fortune to be able to sit together to celebrate something as simple as a song to a cake and a drink to a day."

Apparently, that hoax of a congratulatory message astounded everybody, including the captain himself. Earning that look of amazement from Andy is most unexpectedly pleasant, not that Piers is going to let it stay the way it is.

Raising his mug, "Here's to a toast, to Alpha and his great men, especially to Andy Walker, a man without fear and hesitation to fight for what he believes in. Happy birthday to you."

That caught Andy way off guard. The humbleness in his speech, the recognition of the men of Alpha and the roots they believe in, Andy wonders what miracle pills he has taken to be enlightened by this foresight. Putting that aside for now, all eyes seemed to be plastering on him waiting for his grand speech in return, likely expecting him to make an equivalent gratitude of thanks to dissipate the stubborn tension straying around. Enough with the staring guys, he knows what he has to do.

Clearing his throat, Andy takes a deep breath before he atones, "well… I'm just glad you finally see what we stand for. So err… yeah, thanks for that."

The captain must be smiling, Carl would like to think so, even if his face isn't showing or his lips aren't moving. Deep down he knew the captain must have said something to Piers, which meant his decision to tell him must have done something good. Carl sighs in relief, finally things are going back on track for Alpha he believes. Marco then slightly nudges against his arm, stealing a fraction of his attention when he sees the other Alphan smiling discreetly, tall sign of the relief everyone must have experienced likewise.

And Chris wouldn't give a thing to take back the hurt he may have inflicted on Piers on shore if it could make things better for the ace like now.

"Well well, this calls for a real celebra—"

"Although I may add, I did kinda save you back there so, yeah. Just saying." Cutting Chris off his line much to everyone's surprise is Piers, and his little act of rebuttal appears to be warranting another lashback from Andy who quickly changes the aptitude of being shocked to an angry snort in return.

"What?" Andy wears a puzzled look of annoyance, irritation lacing his voice, "you'd actually think you saved the day or somethin'?"

"I don't think I said I'd saved the day, I only said I saved you then." Suppressing a grin couldn't be as difficult as it can be right now. Piers thought he might be enjoying this.

"Why you—" Holding Andy back is Ben, the other known party on the frontline with Andy then who knows what Piers is talking about. It might have true that without the ace's backup, they wouldn't have been able to hold the line up as smoothly as they think they would have. But he knows he is not about to incur Andy's wrath at this point in time, no need to join forces with the ace.

"Cut it out guys," Breaking a sweat, Chris interrupts their little bickering for a timeout, though a little curious behind Piers' intention, "there may not be a battle to attend to tomorrow, but that doesn't mean I need the fighting now."

Shrugging Ben off his back, Andy goes back sulking to his celebratory food whereas Piers… well Chris couldn't guess what's plotting beneath that nonchalant face of his.

"Watch it ace," Andy snarls for the last time, although he couldn't help being under a discerning impression thinking that perhaps that was the ace's way of connecting with him. Still, it doesn't change the fact that his smugly attitude pisses him off till no end.

"Always," and now the Alphans wished they could put a muzzle on the ace.

* * *

Well since they didn't hold the hose, the boys could only drag the fully wasted birthday boy back to the bunk the moment they stepped foot back in camp. It took three men to get him into the vehicle so likewise, it would take the same three men to carry him back. Watching them go, Piers grins to himself as he steps out of the Humvee, deciding that he should wait for the captain to head back together as well.

"What was that for earlier?"

The captain's concern came a little unexpected to Piers. He did really not have an answer for the leader regarding his spur in the moment other than…

"Being yourself, finally?" Undeniably, Chris had secretly hoped that the little attitude swap is the start of a brand new Piers Nivans in Alpha.

Piers honestly wonders how the captain figured him out that easily. But even so, it is not necessary that he admit to it, if he is as observant as he thinks he is, then not a lot needs to be said at all. He did tell him not to hide anymore… and for some reason, Piers manages to convince himself to place his faith in the captain to try it. Groundless faith yet again, he was still nonetheless the one who led him to where he was now, here.

Escaping from the cold, Chris chases after the silhouette of Piers in the distance once he stows the vehicle away, all in the meantime still thinking about the reports laying on his desk due in a couple of days' time. Has he finished the Burco report in his drawer? Wait, drawer. Approaching Piers, he remembers the little brown package in it, the gift that he doesn't know how he is going to present. Maybe he should just get the ace up to his office now to hand it to him, but that would mean a detour from the bunk dorms to his building that was further away. And snow is not his best friend, which Chris is certain of.

Then watching Piers turn around waiting for him, in the mild snow falling over him, Chris' heart stopped. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but seeing Piers standing there just waiting for him, seeing him in the cold looking back at him, something stopped his tracks. The solo figure who has always stood alone, the one he is compelled—or resolved to change. Chris wanted something, not just anything, to change. Would Piers have hoped for the same he wonders, even though he isn't sure what he wants to change for now. Thoughts became incoherent, his mind vacant and then suddenly, all that matters now is the person right before him. The person whom he mindlessly bought a gift for, the person he wanted to surprise, the person he wanted to redeem himself for shedding his tears who also happens to be his… soldier.

The vicious word snaps him awake, realizing he has stopped his footwork in the increasing cold while the ace is already yards apart.

"You coming, captain?" Piers calls from the shelter he stands beneath, dusting the snow off his jacket while the leader jogs towards him. Something feels amiss in the air, but he knows he is not about to ask something too personal.

While Chris knows, Piers must have sensed something off on him. Guy's pretty observant the last he remembered. So baiting, he plans to retreat quickly, "Well, you should head back up. I'll see you for morning training tomorrow then."

In spite trying to ignore the fact that he may have been hoping to continue the conversation prior, Piers nods hesitantly, "Yes, sir. Have an early night."

"You too." Smiling, Chris returns into the snow as he briskly moves off to his building, mind still contemplating the musing thoughts from before. A quick idea hits him. Just before he disappears from the ace's sight, he turns around and yells back, "Hey Piers!"

Popping his head out from the entrance before he steps out, Piers watches the snow-covered captain holding his left hand to his face, pressing it next to his mouth as he listens to the words coming at him, "Try harder!"

All Chris sees after that is the ace walking back into the building immediately without a single word spoken. Making his way back to his room, he laughs to himself, unusual thoughts crawling up his mind. Despite not seeing it, he knows Piers must have grimaced it. That must have been why he went back in without a word, he probably couldn't suppress a scowl at the encouragement he has given him and that tickled a funny bone inside the captain. But one thing's for sure now, well at least Chris is definitely certain now.

The gift would have suited him perfectly in the snow earlier.

* * *

It would be too one-sided if I had only focused on Piers now, wouldn't it be?


	8. Guide 07: Crush

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_I'm kinda at a loss for words now because I think the emotions and conversations have bled me dry. Another really really long chapter, I hope you guys are ready for the ride. I'm expecting reviews on your feels after this read now, because there are just too many of them. The Christmas got me flailing in the pool of feels after I've mailed the parcels out, started some shopping and written this. Oh my feels. I'm err, gonna take a break now. _

_So go let your goddamned feels out now!_

* * *

_"Do you catch a breath when I look at you?  
Are you holding back like the way I do?  
'Cause I've tried and tried to walk away  
But I know this crush ain't going away-ay-ay  
Going away-ay-ay"  
— David Archuleta, Crush_

"How many this time?" Chris steps into the landing zone, watching Charlie and Delta exiting the carrier. The gloomy faces worn are not something anyone would call a good sign in this freezing cold.

"Four. We'd been lucky, rookie over there almost got his balls busted. Ambushed by new species of the infected, they seem to dominate the areas here."

"Same kind we encountered in Zadar."

"Yeah, I heard from B leader. Has Command given any further information regarding their analysis? We can't be sending troops out there fightin' against something we don't know. It's suicide."

"Even so, that doesn't mean we can stop fighting so long they're out there. Isn't that why all of them signed up for this? To protect the future?"

Delta leader sighs distastefully. The Alpha leader has a point.

Observing the disheartened soldiers stepping out of the plane, Chris understands the turmoil they must have been going through coming back from the field. It is going to take some getting-used-to, maybe months or years, before they can get over the fact that their comrades can become their enemies at any one time on field. While it is easy to read the information off a brochure before one travels, one can never really expect the reality to be what it is as written. Same goes for their case, while it is easy to understand the risk involved before the mission, it is always difficult to accept it once it actually happens before their eyes.

"And god be damned today's fucking Christmas eve. I don't think the boys are in the mood for anything now."

"Brass has gone back earlier this morning to DC. Urgent meeting protocols I heard." Chris reports, watching the last of the shaken soldiers quickly heading to the infirmary and out of the snow.

"So tonight's only us and the men?"

Chris nods, walking with Delta leader as they enter the lower hangar.

"That's kinda shame. Could've party all night long." Eyeing suspiciously at Delta leader, Chris muses for a moment before he brightens up like a generated light bulb.

"Well, then don't. Bring the boys to the recreation facility at eight. Four hours should be enough time to make themselves look pretty."

* * *

Dancing to the thumping music beat in the entertainment room is Ben, hands full with decorations as he puts the streamers hanging from the evergreens. Andy is standing at the other end busy sorting garlands, fastening the ribbons and bells tightly before he hangs them on the walls around. He seems to be at odds with Ben's horrid taste for music, bass remixes of music played in clubs are not exactly his thing. That gives him a heads up for the coming January of the following year, where Ben is going to be the first in the team to celebrate his birthday. With the kind of music going around, he has a faint idea where the soldier would propose to commemorate him getting a year older.

"You guys… sure know how to party."

The voice leads both boys to its source, their good old captain looking around at the decorations while the music hollers through the corridor. Ben quickly turns the volume down with the remote, hopping over a few boxes of ornaments before he stops at the electronics booth where the sound system has been kicking the air alive.

"Sorry 'bout that, capin," Andy steps up to the entrance to greet the officer but is casually dismissal as per say.

"Hey, we only live life once. We gotta do whatever we want and live it to the fullest."

Ben's quip sends a reflective principle through Chris' mind, the fragility of those who have passed on as well as their own, especially of those who have left this world just a couple of hours ago in fact. Christmas, like thanksgiving, has always been about the spirit of joy and gathering to which in the captain's opinion, if they let it pass uncelebrated, it would perhaps do ill for those who didn't have a chance to. So despite the bitter laidback personality Ben possesses, for a day like today is, perhaps he could really use it to bring the life out of everyone again.

"Live it to the fullest, huh?" Chris repeats, smiling in his demeanor, "Can't say you're aren't right."

"Something wrong, capin?" Although slightly taken aback by the sudden supportive gesture, Andy senses a secondary concern beneath his captain's tone that he couldn't ignore.

"Nah, everything's fine," but there is no need to spread anything else other than the joy of Christmas for today Chris thinks, "Where're the others?"

"Carl's gone to get the cases by the bar with Piers. Marco went to get the tree decorations but he should be back soon enough." Andy nods at Ben's report, still threading the fasteners on the garland in his hand.

"Call Carl up to get a few more cases. We're gonna need them to fill about a dozen more soldiers tonight." Chris then turns to leave the event hall after a quick glance at his watch. He is expecting someone to be here soon.

* * *

Clothed in a thick fur jacket, a set of headlights in the distance catches Chris' attention as he waits by the outpost where he had previously met up with Piers at. He watches the vehicle stopped by security house, the silhouette of a hand extending out from the window flashing something at the guard on duty before the gates open. So Piers really did help with the document processing he mumbled the other night while he was digging through old files, he really ought to thank the boy later when he sees him.

Not forgetting the fact that he is also on a six-hour deadline to summon the brown parcel into his hands, which is what his guest is here for—to help him think of a solution for it.

And in comes the cab passing through the final gates, pulling the brakes before him as he opens the door.

"I can't believe you chose to celebrate Christmas here." Chris laughs, receiving the hand luggage from his guest while the person steps out into the cold.

"It's not like I have someone back home to celebrate it with and besides, I do kinda miss our Christmases together."

That was a surprise, one that the captain hadn't expected it coming so he doesn't waste the opportunity, "So you're saying you miss us now?"

His guest chuckles, "I miss the Christmases in your old apartment in Portland whenever we had the chance to. Remember how we used to chalk up on the seasonal treats and waste the night away on beers and cheesy holiday TV shows?"

"Yeah, like teenagers all over again, huh?" Musing at the nostalgia, Chris carries the luggage as he leads the path towards his office. "Though I must say, I do have a house here. Nothing fancy but, never had a chance to do something about it in these six months either."

"Well then do something about it already!" The visitor punches playfully against his arm, "It won't look nice when you decide to bring someone home and all they see is the empty floor."

Chris shakes his head at what absurdity this is, "Nobody's coming."

"You'll never know, Chris. You'll never know."

* * *

The hell yes he is late. One freaking hour late for the party, that has started since eight sharp. He is not dolling up like some Cinderella in a fairy tale now, is he?

Piers snaps his tongue for the fifth time. The person who has just entered is not the captain, again.

However, he is nonetheless concerned about the fact that he has been enthusiastically waiting for the officer to come through the door he had been watching for the last thirty minutes or so. He feels unsettled with the increase of new faces in the arena, despite the captain's much earlier preposition to reduce the number of participants involved, this has significantly changed without his knowledge evidently. Now, another girl is attempting to drag him onto the dance floor, a certain hypnotic beat lingers in the mixture of chatter and what he would like to call Ben's worst choice of music, ever. He declines politely, amidst the noise, showing gestures that expressed his refusal like waving his hand or head for a number of times before she finally gives up, heading off to find another companion.

Soldiers are indeed a bunch of lonely souls, Piers observes.

He scrunches up the fourth can of beer in his hand and dunks it in the bin. Gold star.

"Are you not going to move out of this seat at all?"

Ben's voice catches Piers by surprise as the man takes a seat in the plastic chair next to him. The ace retains a neutral face, a look that he has recently mastered that doesn't make him look like he has a problem with everyone, before he reaches for another can on the table next to him. "I'm good here."

"Uh-uh, you should get on the dance floor. I bet you can really move."

This had meant to be a secret but Piers does enjoy dancing every once in a while. Even if his only partner had been his little sister back in the comfort of their own home, he knows his body is capable of pulling moves that would probably astound people. It had only happened once in his entire life during his freshman party, when he got a little out of control on the alcohol and started grooving on the floor. The aftermath resulted in about a month's worth of female fanatics stalking him around so much so that he had to go out of sight on campus. It was juvenile drinking then however, he has matured from that with flying colors ever since.

"I think you're drunk," Piers concludes from the heat rushing through Ben's face, "Perhaps you should take a break."

Before Ben speaks, the tempo increases and in his drunken haze, he recognizes it as one of his favorite tunes where he shrieks in delight to the hyperbeat. He jumps up from the seat and charges for the center of the room again, but not before he repeats the motto of his life again.

"There's no time for breaks when you're living life on the high line!"

* * *

"This is ridiculous, Chris. Just give it to him like you originally planned to."

Chris rolls his eyes, "I would have if I could."

"What's wrong with a leader buying a gift for his subordinate? I'm sure fraternization doesn't account for gifts from the higher-ups to the lowers in military protocols."

"It's not just that," Chris sips another mouthful of the coffee on his desk, "I got a gift only for him. No one else but him."

The visitor grins coyly, "Oh? So I'm guessing he's… _special_ in one way or another?" That grin is now visually settling somewhere between the eyes, reading between his lines too.

"God, what are you suggesting again? He's just not used to the cold yet, so I got him this to help him in meantime."

"Well I certainly don't see you buying this for any of your men before him. He's definitely not the only one who's weak against the snow, is he?" If Chris wants to play reasoning, his guest is ready to trash it all out in his face.

"What? Look, I only happen to take him out once upon your good advice and it just so happens that I came across this shop selling this that could help him tide—"

"The cold?"

"Err yeah. You gotta help me think of a way to present the gift to—"

"Him?"

"Without being detected. I mean it's just awkward when you look at it. A man giving another man a Christmas presen—wait, or maybe you can hand it to him on my behalf?"

The visitor frowns this time, "And what's the point in that again? No matter what, you're gonna give that to him on your own, Chris."

Chris sighs, swirling the cup in his hand as he watches the liquid swivels in the middle before he empties it down his throat. While he stares at the brown parcel on the desk, it seems to be staring back at him and the little fix he puts himself in. The captain is worried, would his recipient find him weird for giving him something as unexpected as this? Does a man really give another man something as delicate as this as a gift for any occasion? Is this touch a little too personal given the relationship they have now?

Wait, what relationship was that again?

Oh god, he meant work relationship. Chris is freaking out a little.

"He's probably gonna think his captain's a weird—"

"Oh my god, Chris! Look at you!" His guest slams onto the desk, clearly irritated by his hesitance at something that doesn't exist at all. "You're just gonna give him a gift, okay? Not some Valentines' day gift or something as significant as the first day you dated someone, but just a freaking Christmas gift! What are you worried about?! All this brooding worries you have don't even exist at all!"

"But they do! Goddammit if they don't, why would I even think of the remote possibility of them happening?! Even you said so yourself!"

"It's because you're thinking too deep into it! And for Christ's sakes, I was just joking all right?! God, you're his captain. You're just going to give him a gift. What can they say? Say you're being biased, that you fancy the boy more than anyone of them so you got him this gift? You have a reason why you bought it but you don't even stand for it like as if this reason is not even the real reason why you bought it in the first place! Is that why you're so worried? Worried that he may find out the reason you use may just be a cover for your true intention? If so, then what's your true intention, Chris? Why did you actually buy it for him?"

Taking the outburst firsthand, Chris is dumbfounded after listening to his guest's elaboration because it makes creepy perfect sense. What was his real worry at all?

_I'm thinking of getting a gift for a… friend._

Had he just been worried about the silliest fact that he may not be seen as a friend in the other's eyes? Or rather, if the other has only thought of him as the superior he is to him instead of what he has in his own mind? Then again, does that mean that he wanted to cross the line of their professional relationship to become something more?

More? Wasn't he just thinking about being friends?

If that is the case, why does he always thinking about his lonely silhouette in the snow the other night? Why does he feel a tight contraction in his heart whenever he thinks about how alone he had looked that night? Why did he had the unspoken urge to reach out to him that night, to catch the hands that had fitted perfectly in his? If he had then, would he be looking at those long lashes extending from his eyes again or those reddened lips tainted by the cold in the proximity they share?

What would he have done… _if he really had him in his arms again?_

"—ris? Chris!" Someone stirs him from his thoughts again, "It's already ten-fifteen. Shouldn't we be there by now?"

Dazed, Chris quickly finds the clock on his wall as he gets up from his chair, marking the late hour in his mind while he makes a move for the door. His guest watches him carefully, concern rising for his distraught face.

"You okay?" He silently nods holding the door, eyes looking around his room before he suddenly leaves it ajar, briskly walking back to his desk to retrieve the brown package on it. The visitor waits for him to return to the door as he tucks the gift into his side pocket.

"Things are gonna be all right, okay? Just don't forget you're gonna have to drive me back to London so that I can check in for my vacation tomorrow. I only made this trip especially for you, so you'd better take what I just said earlier. Seriously."

Smiling a little unconfidently, Chris pulls the door locked behind him, keeping the silence as his secret comrade.

* * *

When they arrived along the corridor towards the entertainment room, the loud rhythms welcome them from afar while they pace towards it. Chris has some kind of bad premonition but he supposed so long the boys clear it up before Brass returns tomorrow, it should be fine.

Stepping into the entrance, he sees the common lights are turned off and replaced by spinning lights which are in a constant change of colors in the room between red to blue to green. The Christmas decorations Andy was previously meddling with are seen hanging from the walls now, pretty well done coming from someone like him. A small Christmas tree sits at the corner of room done by a small amount of ornaments. Now losing focus of the small decorations, Chris notices the group of soldiers dancing in the middle of the room with the number of empty cases by the bin. Andy seems to be in the crowd as of what Chris could make out of, though Ben is definitely one of those knocked out on the floor, amidst some others who have also already begun snoozing off on the chairs or floor space available it seems.

"Hey capin!" A voice calls him during the interchange of music and Chris finds Marco walking up towards him. "What took you so long?" Well at least the tech expert still seems to be sober.

Before Chris could get a chance to speak, his guest intercepts him as she holds out a hand to Marco, smiling at the soldier before he returns with a gush of awe and shock, "Sorry I took up most of his time. Marco right?"

Holy fuck, Marco couldn't believe his eyes. It feels as though Santa heard his prayers and he brought her here, the extraordinaire of the B.S.A.A.

"V-valentine? J-jill Valentine?!" The excitement in his voice is a little too obvious to keep his cool demeanor in check. "I m-mean, sorry 'mam I—"

"Calm yourself down, why not you bring us to where the beers are so we can get this party started?" Real smooth Jilly, real smooth Chris thought.

So Marco brings the two officers to their reception table where abundance of beer cans and bottles are stripped off their cartons. He hands two cracked bottles to the seniors as they clink bottles together to celebrate Christmas. Although Marco had been nervous to talk to the lady, the fuzzy feeling he feels from the beer helps bring his anxiety down so that he can strike a decent conversation with them both.

"W-what are you doing here in Lincoln, 'mam?"

"Well, Jill's a pretty cool name so I think it'll be fine if you just use it," she smiles warmly and that melts Marco deep down. "Other than that, I'm just on my shores so I figure I should come over to visit my big old bear to see what he's been up to lately."

"Please, no bear endearments in front of the soldiers," Chris warns, sipping another mouthful of beer while his eyes couldn't help but to search for a certain someone around the premises.

"No endearments even by your closest partner?" Jill teases, the alcohol slowly warming her body up.

"No, because you're not even admitting the fact that you came here because you missed us spending Christmas together," Marco must admit he is a little shocked when he first hears his captain openly flirting with his goddess, for he immediately disheartens at their small talks because he is unsure if they actually have something going on right now.

And he obviously, is not the only one in utter dismay.

With the effects of the alcohol settling in their systems, they began talking and laughing louder than it is necessary. The conversation gradually grows on its own, the comfort being familiarized such that everyone becomes bold in their questions, spontaneous in their answers.

So eventually at some limit point, Marco couldn't contain his curiosity any further because he really wants to know if he stands a chance with his idol, or he might be competing against his captain. "Err, can I just ask something?"

Jill empties the beer in her hand, "Sure, shoot."

"Are you… are you and the captain err… you know err…"

While Chris tries to formulate an appropriate answer to that, Jill bursts into a ball of laughter as she crunches her belly, not too sure what is tickling her funny bone this hard, "M-me and Chris? Really?"

"W-well you two looked really close and I thought…"

"So we're an item now, Chris?" When Jill winks an eye at him, the captain immediately knows she must have had too much to drink for the night and this needs to stop. "I don't mind that you know!"

Then she looks beyond the direction Chris' back faces, a small twitch stretches in her grin.

"Yeah yeah, you're drunk Jill." Chris takes the bottle away from her hand, trying to put her down on a chair while she struggles against his strength. "Just take a seat first."

"I'm f-fine, Chris…" and that is clearly an overstatement.

As she tries to get out of the seat, Jill lapses into a giddy spell that leaves her stumbling into Chris' arms, his body heat a little too comforting makes her clings onto it, grabbing his sleeves rather tightly. Marco is seen wavering in his steps, the haze hitting his head hard when a sudden pair of helpful hands catches him, guiding him to a vacant seat available not too far away. Struggling to settle Jill onto the chair, Chris finally manages to remove the drunken woman's grip off his clothing before he pushes her down a second time, this time a little more successful than the first.

"Maybe you should help her back to the room," says the advice that distracts Chris in mid-thought, a voice he finds himself looking forward to all night. Looking to his right, he sees the face he missed seeing all night, though not in the particular expression he is looking for.

He looks a little agitated, mixed with some bits of disappointment. Depressed is the word he is looking for.

"A little help?" Chris asks helplessly, his vision a little affected by the blurriness. Underhand plainly, he thinks he is just finding an excuse to spend a little more time with the ace, the weight of the parcel in his pocket becoming extremely prominent once he thinks about it.

"I'm sure you'll be able to help Miss Valentine without it, captain." There is a hiss in 'Miss' and Chris is so damned sure he heard it.

"Vicious for your character, isn't it ace?" Piers bites back another groan, and there he was trying so hard to hide it after observing the trio bantering amongst themselves for the last thirty minutes. The captain still saw through it.

"No, sir. I just think Miss Valentine would appreciate your assistance above anyone else's. If there's nothing else, I'm calling a night. Enjoy." Any longer Piers knows he is about to spill something he doesn't want to hence this calls for an evac. So he makes his finale, a polite retreat he would like to think before he steps out of the entrance.

Sure, all this is meaningless. Piers knows it better than anyone else does.

He cannot pinpoint when this grumpiness started to crawl on him but when he does realize it, it had already been in the red zone. He sat in that nasty room of dancing bodies and drunken stupors combined with deafening spoilt taste of music because this had meant to be a small gathering between Bravo and Alpha. When he was instructed to bring the additional cases back with Carl, he hadn't question the purpose behind it. He just followed the orders, thinking it could be an emergency backup if the primary stock finishes before the party ended. Ten minutes before eight, he saw a dozen of newcomers coming, excluding the girls whom he knew Ben was going to invite, and they had claimed that they were invited by Alpha leader. Alpha goddamn leader.

It didn't help any further when the leader was nowhere to be found at eight when the party started. Nobody knew if the captain really invited these guys, but it had been impossible to chase them out in the midst of the party hype. The more the merrier Ben said, since Andy and he didn't really mind the new inputs. But Piers minded, he minded the fact that the plan had changed and the planner hadn't had the courtesy to inform them of the new changes. What's worse, he was still nowhere in sight.

Although Carl had tried to defend the captain, Piers wasn't moving from his ground.

He was at his fourth can when he checked his watch at nine.

Then the seventh when the clock said nine-forty.

Piers was frustrated. Had he known the captain was going to play MIA, he would have skipped this damn thing and took the night off for himself. But no, he promised he was going to try, harder in fact when he remembered what the captain had said. And he was a man of promises.

He wasn't drunk, not even when he was at his tenth while watching them talking the whole time. Beer didn't have the effect on him as to what hard liquor would have on the contrary. He was almost as sharp as an eagle, observing every mild gesture exchanging between Jill Valentine and his captain. While he did find the need to question his actions, rationality had been disconnected from his emotions. He felt very new at the raging feelings he had then. It was a scornful type of disdain, a sore of some sort to be exact, that he found it unbearable to watch his captain laughing with another woman. Laughing like he really enjoyed it, mean it, and that made him snap somewhere inside. Jill's occasional bouts of physical contact with the captain didn't make things easier either.

It was ridiculous, not that Piers wasn't aware. However he couldn't explain all the bitterness he felt inside. He tried, really tried, to reason out these feelings, trying to erase them before they surfaced unsightly. But the more he tried to do so, the faster they evolved and it resulted in this, his unruly observation from afar.

And amidst the attention he gave them, the conversation he picked up wasn't anything he would have preferred to listen to. If the careless flirting had twitched a nervous bone somewhere, then the unanswered questionability of their last statement left Piers walking over a bed of nails. Aching, gritting and in pain.

"_Piers, wait!" _

The last straw to that then was when she grabbed hold of Chris like he was her motherfucking teddy bear.

"Piers!" A strong grip pulls not only him in his steps, but as well as the mumbling thoughts buzzing in his mind. When he has come to realize it, he is already out of the recreation building traipsing through the snow towards—nowhere that he is sure of.

Chris doesn't know why he bothers to go after the ace the moment he steps out of the room but he does, part of his gut feeling seems to be telling him that if he doesn't, things are going get a whole lot worse. Grabbing Piers' arm, the captain finally manages to stop the ace in his tracks, though he hasn't found a word to start the conversation.

Awkward, Piers moves his arm a little to shake the captain's grip off him, tucking his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. He waits for a sign, uncertain if he should turn around to face the officer. Thankfully enough, the snow has been kind to him this night.

"I err…" Chris tries, the harshness of Piers' back facing him tears a hole in his stomach, "Why are you leaving so early? The countdown hasn't even started yet."

Slightly revealing the prolific view when his head turns a little, Piers gripes, "I've been there long enough. I would just like to turn in for the night, sir."

"But to miss out on the countdown would be such a shame." Oh he wants to talk about shame? Piers hisses, then where was he right since the start of the event?

"It was already a shame when you had _to_ miss out half of the fun _too_, sir." He really couldn't contain this one, the need to express his discontent has gone past his limit.

_Is that…_ Chris holds the suspicions to himself, it is still too early to speculate the possibilities… even if every word Piers enunciates seems to be relaying another message. "Time slipped my mind. I was busy."

_Yeah, busy with Jill Valentine that I can see. _

Piers bites his tongue, quite literally, to hold the passive thoughts back, replacing his true intention with another hasty cover, "With Miss Valentine I understood, I was the one who helped you with the papers."

"Yeah, thank you for that." Chris may have sounded a little too sincere with the gratitude, and it was nothing Piers needed.

Then there are several moments of silence.

There is no way Piers is ever going to let his captain find out the spiteful words he has conjured in his head, mostly they are going to work as a defense mechanism to twist whatever the captain has to say while the minority is actually going all out to hurt him. How the idea came to his mind is unknown, but he does want to inflict the same kind of misery he felt previously back onto him. Although he doesn't know if his captain may be too daft to pick up his purpose…

…the contorting face under the silent treatment seems to be exactly what Piers had pictured.

A hidden smirk ghosts past Piers' features but at the same time, he feels terrible for thinking what he is thinking. It had only been such a small matter, why is he blowing things up like it had mattered the safety of the world? There was no one hurt in the scenario at all, or maybe one… just one. But it was just one insignificant person perhaps, someone who didn't matter as much as Jill Valentine did. The lady has been the captain's longest friend, partner, comrade and who knows what else. So there is no way… no way at all that this infinitesimal character plays any importance to the captain either.

When he looks at it this way, Piers instantly becomes ashamed of his own pettiness. It wasn't as though the captain promised to spend the evening with him or anything of that sort, it was all part of his wishful thinking. Hoping to use this party as an opportunity to talk to him, get to know him better on a personal level as well. It was just like what he had blurted out during last shore, which he had then just thought of it as a careless blurt. Now he isn't sure if that was the case at all, because he did have the intention wanting to know him on a more personal level.

_Like Jill Valentine did._

"Sorry."

Piers snaps out. What did he just heard?

"Captain?" His voice a little softer now, the reasoning helped that much.

Chris takes a deep breath, eyes glued to the ground as he steps away from the sinking spot, "I'm sorry."

For a man who didn't need apologies, the impact of the word came more than just a surprise to Piers—it came remorseful.

It sweeps Piers off his feet, an immediate need to see his captain flooding his mind. He needs to see that face, if it may have been as broken as that voice almost sounded.

"I mean, I really forgot about the time of the party because I had been… well, busy over something. Jill came to help but still… I had my doubts."

"I wasn't… trying to make a big fuss out of it," Piers confesses, feeling the need to be honest since his captain is doing likewise. "I understand you must have your… reasons."

Another period of silence slices through them, but this time it hurts so bad even Chris felt it. Slowly walking towards Piers, he slips his hand into his pocket grabbing the package as hard as he could, feeling the paper scrunched in his palm. He is breathing heavily now, anxiety hanging on him drags him down to the reality of things, where his conflicting worries will see real truth with his own eyes.

At arm's distance he stops, murmuring, "It's nothing much but…." Feeling the corners of the gift sliding against his fabric, he brandishes the item in plain sight, waiting for the moment of truth.

"Merry Christmas, Piers."

Surprised would be an understatement, much to what shocked would be too. There is no appropriate word to describe the feelings going through Piers the moment he sees the tiny gift in his captain's hand. Dumbfounded isn't right either, he continues searching. Startled is too appalling though overwhelmed feels close enough. Then he finally found it.

Flustered.

A combination of all the mixed feelings he is experiencing right now that surmounts to this.

Hesitantly, he reaches for the gift with both hands, carefully picking it up but the tips of their fingers brush past each other. He withholds a gasp, the mere encounter sending fuzzy signals to his mind where Chris, in his own control, almost wanted to reach out to him.

"…May I?" His politeness is creating a stronger awareness than before. Chris nods once, eyes searching for the lost guts he missed having.

Watching Piers unwrapping the gift has truly been one of the hardest tortures Chris ever has to sit through. One in too many occasions he had thought his heart is about to collapse on him. The slightest crisp of the wrapper sounding in his ears feels like an increasing shredding tempo to his failing heartburn.

Then Piers saw it. Chris looks away immediately, the subtle color flashing past his eyes just before the white snow fills his vision. He breathes harder than before, now urgently waiting for the verdict to pass. _Good god, hurry already._

The soft material slides through Piers' fingers as he brushes over the shemagh fabric—lightly textured, woven, green or maybe khaki, checkered and warm. Yes warm. He instantly felt how well the material retains heat in his hands, the softness an additional plus point to it. Now looking back at his captain, nervous for words, he is glad to see the captain somewhat feeling what he is feeling too. And he doesn't even have to do what he did earlier.

Which makes him remorseful again, he needs to find a way to apologize for that whelp tantrum he threw earlier.

"The shopowner says it retains heat and is suitable for anyone. So I thought maybe… err maybe… this'll help you t-tide the cold…"

Piers doesn't speak. He can't find the right opportunity to say he is sorry.

"I mean err… I know it's not something much but I err, I…" Desperately searching for the right words, Chris stutters, "…h-hope it's not err, offending to you."

Chris only sees the ace spreading the shemagh apart then slowly folding it, still quiet.

"If… if you find it awkward," his voice lowers as his confidence did, "… you can just take it that it didn't come from me."

"How does it look?"

Tracing Piers' voice after the grilling silence, Chris looks back at the ace, eyes widened at the welcoming sight. The folded gift sitting comfortably around his neck, bundling heat closely to him like Chris had imagined it.

Chris feels a heartbeat skipped.

It is beautiful.

Then when Piers smiles to it, it is the best gift Chris knows he could ever ask for.

_He is beautiful._

"Beau—I mean err, great. It looks great on you." Chris smiles forcefully, he almost blurted it out right there.

With one hand rubbing the shemagh once more, Piers has to admit he would never expect his captain getting him a gift. All that disappointment and anger just flew out of the window like they never happened. In replace, a little voice jumps for joy deep inside and it grows in volume. Soon Piers almost hears it from every corner of his mind, so much so that he is having a hard time not to smile at it. Bliss he figures, like the first time he has received a Christmas present from his parents, but in multiple folds of it. Elation is the right word to describe his extreme happiness welling.

"Is this… really for me?" However he has to ask again, to prove that he is not dreaming about it.

"Well, yeah although…" Slowly regaining his confidence, Chris reaches out to the scarf as he tucks the loose ends into the open neck of Piers' sweater. "It would look much better like this."

Piers' heart stopped.

The fingers caressing over his collar is not his imagination. He goes rigid under his captain's ministration, holding his breath like his life depended on it. Looking at the officer again, he wonders yet again how he is capable of changing his emotions as that. A little attention and few words from the officer are all it took to turn his mood around apart from the mirth in his eyes and adoration in his smile he sees, things that Piers have grown fond of. The gentleness he showed that night at the carnival, little actions that were not needed but he did it for him. To cheer him up he remembered, for the caring concern he has showed him that broke him down in the car. Everything he did that day, he did it for him.

His first tears in front of him. His first name he first uses.

Even the small moment they shared in his arms, it constantly plagues his mind. He remembers every detail of it; those deep brown eyes that were capable of bringing him out from all that he hides from. The sinking wrinkles that Piers secretly adores, the mark of a man who has lived to tell his tale. Then there were his chapped lips and unshaven stubbles. Often he finds himself wondering how would those short stubbles feel against his skin if he touches it. Would it scratch or graze into him? Or maybe they aren't as bad as he thought they would be. He wants to find out, an uncontrollable thirst for knowledge triggering his hand to reach for it, not that he finds himself doing it in his subconscious.

But this feeling… this warm fuzzy feeling he feels every time he sees his captain, he wants it.

_He loves it._

"Captain Redfield!" breaks the moment between them both and Chris finds his hands jolting away from Piers as the ace steps back as well. They look away in contrite, a behavior they couldn't explain why they felt so while Chris turns to the cadet, acknowledging.

"Yeah, what's the matter?"

"I think you will need to help Miss Valentine to your quarters. We are clearing the area, sir."

"Oh yeah," Chris remembers, "Sure, I'll be there."

Piers sulks at her name again.

Not sure how to end their exchange, Chris turns back to Piers after some multiple clumsy attempts to word something decent, giving his best shot regardless, "I gotta go back help Jill. I'll see you around… all right?"

It feels like a weak promise but Piers thinks this would have to do for now. Besides, he has finally found the answer to all his questioning behavior that he lays for himself… he thinks. It is going to take more than this to reason his situation but at least, he thinks this is what he is really feeling right now. The relief he feels after admitting to it is tall sign that he is right, isn't it?

"Hey captain."

Chris stops his footwork, instantly turning back to his ace in a broaden smile, "Yeah?"

_There really is no use running away from it, is it?_

Piers really couldn't resist how much he loves it when his captain smiles at him like it is only meant for him.

Whereas Chris decides that the flustering sight he sees from Piers is the second best gift all night long.

"Merry Christmas and… thank you."

_Thank you… for letting me know that this feeling I have for you is more than just the admiration I thought I only had._

* * *

Oh the feels, oh. Now pay my services.


	9. Guide 08: Faith

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_First off, let me once again say how much I appreciated the reviews from all you guys! A big fat thank you to all of you out there! This story wouldn't have come so far without all of your support. I mean every word of it._

_Next, this is not something important but just humor my curiosity if you could/have the time to spare—does anyone of you find the story's pace too slow for your taste? Well, I think I need to make a point that since I am doing pre-Edonian, I naturally have more privileges than most AE writers do when it comes to developing the relationship. May it be the nature of the relationship or the emotions attached to it etc. So while my take is slow, you can see we are already making progress if you haven't noticed it! And this progress will move very smoothly in the next couple of chapters, trust me._

_So let's just relax in this chapter for now, shall we?_

* * *

_"Livin' just to find emotion_  
_Hidin' somewhere in the night"_  
_— Journey (Glee), Don't Stop Believin'_

The screeching noises of the rusty gates swinging open scratches Ben's ears as he pushes the last barricade open. A narrow plank lies weakly between the rooftops of the building they stood on and the one they are supposed to infiltrate. Matching the odds, the wind stands unfavorable today for that clumsy piece of wood looks like it would fly off any time. Ben signals the rest of the squad to come forth and inspect their choice, because falling from ten storeys above ground level would leave them either in a coma or probably instant death.

"Well this oughta be fun." Marco laughs, something about this predicament makes him feel nostalgic. "What's the distance, some what six feet?"

Carl nods, pointing the machinegun tip down while his eyes estimate the spread, "About six feet all right. Give or take about half a feet in between. Perhaps we could just jump across, you know?"

"Physical training didn't bog us down with about forty pounds of gear, buddy," Andy finds a need to remind the rest the reality of things, "Ice slips can be pretty deadly, check out the parapet."

Andy has a point indeed; the ice frozen up along the corners of the concrete parapet is hazardous. Any slip would send them back on a stretcher if they were lucky or a coffin otherwise. So looking back at the thin plank, it appears to be their best bet to infiltrate the building undetected.

"Alpha team, hostages are being moved to the ninth floor but you do not have a clear shot from your position. Proceed to extract the civilians immediately."

"Copy," Chris answers into the intercom, a hand resting over the parapet on the rooftop as he tries to figure a safer route over the plank. Unfortunately, it appears that there is no other way around and going down is likely to waste more time in addition to the risk of exposing themselves. So staring at the flimsy attachment again, the only problem would be stabilizing the makeshift bridge for use. He needs at least one person over at the other side to secure the end while the rest handle it here. One, that is all he needs.

Oh if that is the case, what was he waiting for?

Leaning his ACR against the parapet, Chris double checks his pistol before slotting it back into its holder as he climbs onto the parapet. That action alone left his men staring wide at him—the captain isn't about to do what they think he is going to do now, is he?

"Captain?" The first to voice his concerns is none other than Piers. No matter how much a veteran the captain may be, snow is nobody's game. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"It'll be fine."

"Captain, Piers has a point, this is too dangerous," Carl supports Piers' concern, "there's no telling what this snow will bring. Perhaps we can try cross-propelling to the eighth or seventh floor unnoticed instead."

But the captain's a little too stubborn right now to heed any advice from his men. He believes he can handle it just right.

Little does he know, Piers is about to have a panic attack when the winds start blowing stronger than before, the captain apparently fighting to stand steadily on the icy surface beneath the snow. He grabs the handle of his bolt rifle tightly, watching as the captain slowly steps towards the edge, arms about forty-five degrees away from his body balancing. His mind constantly plays images of his captain slipping and disappearing before his eyes while he tries hard to fight away the anxiety, pushing his strongest faith up front believing that the captain always knows what he is doing.

"Capin, you sure?" Andy asks again, seems like everyone has the same worries.

"Yeah, be waiting you boys on the other side to wrap this up."

And in a straggling moment, Chris leaps from his spot. Focusing all his energy into his legs, he propels his body forward through the wind, confident that his body mass would keep him steady against the strong winds.

Carl sees Piers holding a breath in, his motions coming to a halt as he stares at him.

At the captain.

His hands stretch out like a flying fox across the air, keeping his body parallel to the opposite rooftop when the ballistic vest scratches over thin ice on the parapet, buckling him over the snowy surface. It rolls him some distance over, the snow stacking over tiny loops on his vest until he finally stops, shaking his head slightly while he pushes himself off the ground.

Piers heaves a sigh of relief, unaware he has been holding it all along.

Without further a do, Chris hurries over to the end of the plank, holding the board down as he hustles the troop to hurry over whereas Andy decides to stay and hold the end they are on, urging everyone to move in too. When the only ones left are Piers and he, he finds the sniper pushing him aside, telling him to hurry over while he holds still. Andy is baffled and irritated at the same time.

"Well what are you waiting for? Go!" Piers shouts, feeling the wind calling stronger.

"What the hell are you doing here then?" Yelling back, Andy reaches for the captain's ACR before he turns to the ace again. "Ain't nobody got time for your solo acts again!"

Hand traveling down the barrel of the Anti-Material sniper bolt attached to his lower back, Piers brings the weapon around as he presses his body weight on the plank. "Someone's gotta cover from the shadows."

Well the ace has a point, as much as Andy would like to disagree leaving him behind alone, none of his weapons would help him even if he did. Mission takes priority he remembers and recites, whatever gets the job done as fast as they could. So quickly, he trots across the plank with small steps where he is welcomed by the rest of the Alphas, particularly a concerned captain who questions about their last member.

"Where's Piers?"

"He insists on staying to provide support, capin. Here you go," Reporting, Andy hands the captain's ACR for the SOU back to him, ready to join the rest with Marco who is attaching a device to crack the metal door open.

Taking one last look back across the previous rooftop, Chris silently stares at Piers who seems to be looking back at him as well. No words or gestures are exchanged, the only one made is through their eyes about something as deep as trust unspoken. Similarly colored in the picturesque snow, something feels faintly different as compared to what Chris previously felt. This time, the loneliness didn't settle in like it did before, as though something changed in Piers that makes him feel like he is no longer the aloof kid alone on his own, rejecting everyone's offer to help him or so anymore. Conviction it feels, or what Chris feels, until he sees a courageous thumbs-up from the ace afar before he runs down the stairs into the building.

Chris smiles to himself, like a message directly hit his mind.

_You can count on me, captain._

* * *

"Good job Alpha. Ready to pull out whenever you are." Then the static fades away in the radio.

The mission succeeded rather easily after the aerial break in. Although the hostages are reported lesser than the information given, speculations revolved around the communications were either incorrect or perhaps some might have been turned or killed. Whichever the case, the remains are obviously grateful for the fact that the B.S.A.A. showed up just in time before the worst could happen and now they are waiting for ground support to send them to the nearest health facility. Some of them look thoroughly shaken from the incident, tears riling and mouth wording gibberish.

"Do you think the other locals were turned, capin?" Andy walks away from the APC, watching the first batch of civilians taken away before he stands by the captain's side.

"We managed to save those alive, that's all that matters."

Andy nods, leaving the captain to do his work as he heads over to the medic who is patching a wound grazed on Ben's leg. While the young man grimaces at the sting of antiseptic, Andy couldn't forestall a sneer forming on his face watching the other in agony.

"Shut the hell up, Andy. That ain't funny."

Muffling the laughter, "Aw look at you, crying over a little wound like that."

"Fuck you, who's crying!" Ben quickly rubs the tiny tears off the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand, desperately wiping out those manly tears. It's not his fault the antiseptic seared so badly like a first-degree burn.

"Stop bothering him Andy, little Ben here needs a little candy time to brighten his day." Then miraculously like pulling a bunny out of magician's hat, Marco pulls a tiny piece of sweet from his pocket and hands it to Ben, all in his stupid sincerity that smells like balls to the injured soldier, "Don't be shy."

"Oh fuck! Fuck all of you, man! Fuck all of you!"

The chatter travels to the other side of the holdout, Carl chuckling in the distance at the three grown men fooling around with Ben hopelessly swatting his hands around the two comrades making fun out of him. It is almost customary he would like to think, whatever floats their boats he believes. Well at least nobody is severely injured this time, which is believed to be a good sign for the year ahead since today happens to be the first day of the new year. The captain is seen talking to the intercom again, probably the airlift is coming soon.

On the other hand, there is the ace. And what Carl would also like to think of as a splendid performance of teamwork shown today.

"Hey," Carl snaps the ace beside him out of his weapons check, "Nice work today."

Piers looks up nonchalantly, feeling rewarded but doesn't show it on his face other than a simple nod to acknowledge it. "Just taking care of each other's back."

"If you hadn't taken the shot, Ben over there would have to suffer more than he is now."

"It was a clean shot, I was fortunate."

"It was more than just a clean shot, you helped us control the situation in there. So just accept credit where it's due."

What Carl sees after that is in the expression that Piers makes, something he has never seen before today and it generally makes Piers much more approachable than he has ever been. That is then also the time when he notices that new accessory attached around the guy, which he finds the ace once every often aligning the material properly and closely to him.

So out of curiosity, he peeks in, "This looks new."

Following Carl's line of attention, Piers finds himself staring at the shemagh around his neck, surprised that someone else would have noticed it and actually voice their curiosity out, "Err… yeah, kinda."

"A Christmas gift?"

Eyes gluing to his weapon, "Yeah…" A finger rings along the inner loop of the fabric as it slightly loosens from the aligned tightness, nervously adjusting and readjusting the material to hide his jitters.

Whereas Carl might have been too intuitive for his own good at a time like this, the tiny gestures Piers put up warrants his attention a little too detailed for the sniper's own good. This must have been a _special_ gift from a very _special_ someone.

"Suits you. Whoever gave that to you, knows you well."

This left Piers fighting harder to stop his glowing face growing any shades darker.

"Chopper's here to pick us up. Let's move," the captain's interference interrupts Piers from his quiet thoughts, realizing then that Carl has already headed for the pick-up point leaving him with the captain alone.

That renders even more attention to the shemagh as well as the baffling confessions he has made to himself over and over again.

So remembering what the captain has advised, Piers quickly pulls out from his location, hand gripping his bolt rifle tightly as he jogs towards the rendezvous point. However just then the captain stops him in his track, a hand holding out to his shoulders as Piers turns around to see the captain looking cautiously at him, eye level dropping lower than his face.

_Shit._

"Putting it to good use?" Chris couldn't suppress a smile. He admits he tends to smile around the boy more than he does with anyone else, the sight of him simply churns it all out. It has become a natural thing since he realizes it but at the same time, it is always hard to go against nature.

Shyly, Piers searches for his lost voice before he quickly responds, "It's… it's really useful, so… why not?"

"I pictured that exactly."

"I'm sorry?" The awkwardness in his voice slowly dissipates on its own, allowing Piers to regain the confidence in his speech like he always has.

"I mean, you wearing the scarf on field. That is exactly what I thought you would do and precisely why I chose it."

_Knows you well._

Stifling the voice in his head, the ace hurriedly searches a way to hide his panic after the resonating voice disappears again, "It does… thank you, captain."

When Piers tries to make the second attempt for the chopper, Chris holds him back yet again, this time a hand grabbing Piers' arm that stalls him completely in his tracks. He wasn't too sure what made the ace stopped then until he notices his hand clasped his arm, a surprised look from the soldier that makes him immediately let go of him again. Another one of those moments where he finds himself losing control of his own action before the young ace again, Chris knows he needs to find out what is causing all these unexplained urges before it actually starts to become dangerous.

He knows it would become… _dangerous_, just a gut feeling.

Like two days ago how he stopped the ace from leaving before lunch was over with everyone. Minor behaviors that don't seem to hurt for now, but who knows it might in the long run.

"Sir?" Piers lets his worry go beyond the usual, this seems to be another one of those mini outbursts from the captain he has seen before. He is genuinely concerned with the officer.

There is something about Piers' eyes that leaves the captain mesmerized in it, at least Chris thought they are enchanting the way the ace throws them at him. He knows the ace is worried, better beef up a good excuse to cover that track.

"Yeah. Just wanna say good job today."

Piers mildly, in his defense excusably, blushes at the compliment, despite the fact that Carl had said the exact same thing to him. Perhaps this was what the captain meant by being a team, to be recognized for the good work he has done and not feel awkward about it, or even worried about people who would accuse this behavior as showy. To once and for all, do something that genuinely meant good for the teammates in his team undoubtedly.

"Providing that cover was our turnaround and you even managed to protect Ben in it. Great work, Piers."

"I guess… that's being part of the team, sir." Piers humbly receives the captain's words, heart racing in the heat.

_Anything for the captain's smile._

"You got that right, soldier. Now, let's head back."

* * *

It is one thing to realize something and to accept it is another.

Piers has been fighting this fight within his mind for a couple of weeks now.

Despite the fact that he has isolated the truth that he has admitted, facing and accepting it becomes relatively difficult when he logically thinks about it.

Even if life is a fairy tale, there is a villain in every one of them. May it be the big bad wolf, the witch or the sorcerer, there is always an obstacle in the pursuit of happiness for the beautiful ending.

And if they say life is a bed of roses, don't forget the thorns pricking between the stems and petals that cut you when you least expect it.

Piers knows that since he was a child.

So right now, he knows his life is considerably smooth-sailing as it should be. He knows he has everything right; his career, his teammates, his satisfaction so on and forth but at the same time, there are some other things that are far from being all right. The odds are against him. The chances of his feelings being unrequited are much higher than it being returned. And since Piers hasn't gone through that many relationships, he is challenging the odds in his hand. Well technically, he is finding a reason to continue this path down the road.

Because this is the first time he feels something for someone, rather than the other way around.

Another sleepless night.

Piers stares at the ceiling above him musing deep in thoughts again, asking the same thing he asks himself every night. The same face he sees during the day and still thinks about every night. A tiny smile creeps up his face, cradling the memories of the fond captain in his mind. However whenever he thinks about it, he is also forced to consider the possible consequences coming from it. It feels somewhat fruitless… doesn't it?

For starters, he's a guy. A full-fledged man in his ripe thirties in the military and worst of all, he is his superior. There is a code about fraternization around, isn't it? They are in the worst kind of situation Piers would believe, much of it due to the environment challenging him. Every aspect of their present situation tells him this can never be done and this is something that won't ever work out.

Well despite the fact that military personnel are allowed to marry someone of the same military and that certain parts of Europe and America has legitimized same-sex marriages, combining the two together in one same scenario doesn't feel like it is going to work out somehow. Not that Piers is thinking about anything remotely close to marriage, the fact lies herewith is in spite the legal approval, the moral acceptance behind this is still being religiously challenged. Public acceptance of such relationship has always been meek, and it is not in Piers' interest to walk him through something as humiliating as public rejection.

No, definitely no.

Besides, he is the captain of the SOU, which meant the interests of many rest on his shoulders. What if other soldiers began losing their respect for him because of something like this? They are supposed to be tough men, well tough being a generic word that is probably only used on men who chased after skirts as compared to those who prefer crotches. Would the sound of a relationship between two men stereotypically sting the pride of these troops? Would they too feel humiliated led by a man engaging in such an abnormal relationship?

Abnormal. Piers wonders why he even used this word to begin with.

Initially, the realization that he may have fallen for another man surprised him more than it came as a shock. Despite the fact that he has dated girls before, he never did once classify himself being straight or something else. Maybe because this was the first time he understood the literary expression of "feeling a heartbeat skipped", he didn't really question his sexuality not even up to now. Although he is neither a romanticist nor an idealist, he understands that in a time like this, he would probably have to follow his heart than to doubt it. No one can judge feelings being straight or what not because when it happens, there is no reasoning to it. After all, emotions are completely irrational, aren't they?

Truth be told, the primary concern probably lies in the fact that the captain may not be interested in him at all. While he may be all liberal about letting emotions run freely, there is no certainty that the captain follows that rule. A relationship only works when both parties are involved. His solo boat won't keep this afloat that he knows, and reality can be a really hard bitch to accept in cases like these. Piers doesn't want to place his hopes high up, because this could be an illusion that never existed in the first place. The feelings he lingers onto, the attraction that steals his breath away, everything could just be… an illusion, couldn't it be?

Pulling the rough fleece over his shoulders, the ace bends his knees up to this chest, curling his body to a ball as he wraps his arms over his legs. He is cold, uncertain and most of all, he is really lost and scared.

Worried for the simplest fact that if he continues to believe in the feelings he has, the more he would become devoted to hoping this could become a reality.

And at the same time, afraid that one day this will all come crashing down if his hopes are utterly crushed beyond his control.

He is not about to cry at this point. He recognizes this as a journey of self-discovery and exploration made within him, embarking on a road he had totally missed out during high school which he is making for lost time now.

Small steps after small steps clambering to explore these awakening emotions that he never had a taste before, simple pleasures in life that bring a smile to his heart or from those tiny thoughts warming him up.

A simple day out, a private lunch for two, a silent road journey, a fun-filled evening and now this, a gift that reaches out into him that touches his very heart, comforting his very tender soul.

Piers grabs the scarf around his neck again, he couldn't bear to leave it away from him. Besides, no one is going to question him in this winter snow.

He wants to take a gamble and take some risks in his life for the first time.

All these years of planning and observing, meticulously preparing for the worst outcomes that he could think about is tiring. How can anyone prepare what comes in line in a relationship? Can it be predicted? Can it be warned? Piers didn't think so, not even the tiniest bit of his intellect could help him when he tries to speculate it.

_Take a leap of faith._

Try something that could probably lead him to somewhere he has never ventured before.

Believe in the beauty of it.

Then chance every opportunity that comes with it.

Piers shuffles on the bed again, turning away from the center of the room to the wall right next to him.

_A dead end. _

A cliff.

A wall that doesn't see beyond what his eyes could.

Fear lies ahead with the probability of its ill coming. Hope comes as it goes like the sun falling into the horizon it risen from, letting darkness roam the night, scattering fear in those who are born weak and timid. Though not being one in the books but at a time like this, he does smell contrite lingering along his corridor, constantly reminding him that with greater hope comes greater disappointment. And pain, and regret.

What Piers truly fears is regret.

Regret for either taking the chance or not taking it. Both parties weigh an equal amount of risk. He doesn't want to miss the chance of it happening but neither does he want to risk the good relationship he has built with the captain now.

When will a breakthrough ever come?

Every night he thinks about the same thing over and over again. The lines are the same, the thoughts are the same, the worries are the same and so are the fears that are the same. He needs a push or pull in fact, something to trigger him to do something.

Make an effort and take the leap.

Or withdraw everything on the deck and run away from it.

Eyes feeling tired now. Piers is barely keeping his mind awake, another night of brooding with no results. This has to change. There is no use analyzing the same question with the same methods getting the same result. Thoughts driven in his mind no longer suffice his needs, he truly believes what he actually needs is a second opinion—another voice, a real voice, telling him what is right or wrong, or rather what he should or should not do.

Someone who has been through this confusion that he suffers in.

Someone who has been through this devotion that he holds on.

As the last of his consciousness drifts into slumber, he mutters a silent hope in his heart, seeking guidance that would help him walk out of this maze, a ray of light to find his way, either forward or back away. While the balance of his hopes and fears continues to battle the night away, hope takes the victory tonight for it answers his little prayer before bed, granting him a beautiful dream where he finds the captain at the end of the maze.

_Someone to help me believe again._

* * *

The playful Alpha boys strike again!


	10. Guide 09: Carl

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_Sorry for the late update! Christmas has been very hectic and I rarely have time to myself doing anything since I have been out of my house almost every single day during that period. Apart from that, some of you may already know the big coup over at Tumblr which is by far the craziest thing I have never thought I would come across in my life. In any case, here's the update just before this year is over... although the New Year surprise had meant to be in the next chapter. Well! Now you guys can look forward to the next chapter after this, it's significant progress. _

_And as usual, Carl is a wonderful man. _

_Lastly, wishing everybody Happy New Year! Happy 2013 and may all your endeavors come true in this forthcoming new year! I wish all of you success, happiness and for those in love, a wonderful experience as always. — Love, Sera._

* * *

_"And when you're needing your space_  
_To do some navigating_  
_I'll be here patiently waiting_  
_To see what you find"_  
_— Jason Mraz, I Won't Give Up_

"Fancy finding you here instead of training in the range."

Slipping into the chair opposite of Piers is Marco, the man who is convinced that Piers is someone who will never take a break even if he can afford to until now. He watches the ace staring into the field from the cafeteria located on the second floor, a cup of cold coffee sitting in front of him an indication that he has been sitting here for quite some time. However that wasn't what surprised Marco, not the fact that Piers knows how to take time to himself but rather, the boy is staring at the field filled with girls.

Yes, girls. Marco reassured himself twice.

"Someone you like in there?"

That immediately snaps the sniper's attention around, warranting a surprised look on his face that too surprised Marco. So maybe his speculations are wrong.

"What?" Piers seems alarmed in fact, and Marco is taken aback by his degree of defense.

"Hey no hard feelings, I just thought you're looking at someone special on the field since you seem to be staring so hard at it."

And Marco wonders if Piers has just averted his comment because the boy appears to look away rather hastily, sipping the cold coffee in an attempt to behave naturally. Taking another look back at the field, Foxtrot's scheduled for training as arranged on the system's calendar all right, mountains of girls jogging around the field in winter gear with rifles in their hands. Marco knows these snow drills at the back of his hands, a necessity to train the tenuous bodies of every soldier to withstand the harsh environments in any unforeseen circumstances. They have trained hard and long in this, under the scorching heat as well, to come this far placing them in Alpha is labor of their hard work, something Marco and everyone in the team is thus far very proud of.

Well except for Ben, the rookie who somehow _fengshui-ed_ throughout his training days, in possession of extreme luck leading him here because he is always taken care of by lady luck shining his way. This also explains the happy-go-lucky character born in his blood, and that being the one thing weighing worries on the captain's shoulders because he personally vouched for their safety.

Speaking of which, Marco notices the familiar silhouette sighted alongside the field, another person standing next to him with his hat or earmuffs off seemingly to be telling him off and hustling the silhouette away. On closer look, they are indeed whom Marco had in his mind after all, none other than the Casanova Ben Airhart and their Captain Redfield.

"You okay there, ace?" He tries again, the weariness in Piers' eyes are unsettling.

"Yeah… I guess." Piers stalls for a moment, observing his coffee slowly stilling in the cup until it finally evens out, before he gathers every ounce of his determination to speak the words in his mind, "Say Marco, you mind if I err… ask you something?"

Looking baffled, Marco doesn't reject the ace's curiosity, "Hit me."

"You… you like Jill Valentine, …right?"

It is in a split second when Marco's face turns a few shades darker, but no sooner than his outburst of laughter following suit. Piers is stunned by the explosion, wondering what his words did to have induced such a response from the tech expert. Slapping a hand to his knees, Marco then rests his arm over his thighs as he bends forward, taking another sip of his coffee before he lets the cool demeanor return, face neutral yet brimming with positives.

"Yeah, I like her. I mean, don't you think she's too damn cool for her own good?"

Piers doesn't know how to relate to that. Probably because he isn't the one who has fallen for her _or maybe because she simply isn't under the best of his impressions from the recent encounter_, yet however when he tried changing the person in his mind to a particular captain, he finds the relation to Marco's spontaneous admiration. A glow rushes up his face, the kind that Marco, in his given experience, knows it's an expression someone has when they think about their significant other; just based off his experience and gut feel.

So probing, he grins, "I mean, while I may find her absolutely cool, maybe there's someone else in your mind on that field you feel the same way about?"

Okay, now that is clearly a big mistake on Piers' part thinking he could hide his agenda in his questions when he isn't someone who is good at hiding to begin with.

He needs a change in topic, something that doesn't remotely relate to that field outside.

"I'm just curious about what do you think about the fraternization rules in spite of the feelings you have for her," so he blabbers, a little too quick for comfort but nonetheless audibly in a sentence that leaves Marco in awe. That look grants him some security because he really doesn't want anyone to find out anything.

"What?" Marco reiterates, outed by Piers' serious question.

"Fraternization. Military protocols in the event that two people fall for each other with the expectant regulations to be followed, as well as the restrictions these two people are supposed to keep off. What do you think about keeping them, let's say if you really got together with Jill Valentine?"

That sets Marco thinking, taking a moment of silence to himself to understand what Piers seeks from him. Perhaps an advice, likely in the form of a personal experience for him to relate to. But to whom, or rather with whom? Marco is more curious to find out whom the ace has shown his interest in, since the boy is the last he would expect to fall for someone in camp.

A clear challenge to that fraternization he speaks about.

"Well," Marco begins, "Protocols are protocols. We have to keep them since we're soldiers. But I won't let them define me, or define the relationship with whoever I have."

Sensing the message is incomplete, Piers waits for the senior to take his time to continue.

"As much as I love doing what I do in this job, there are just things that I cannot compromise to it for my own relationship. And if it comes to the point where I have to decide between this job and that, I won't hesitate to take the latter. But I don't think they're that harsh on fraternization, we just need to keep our asses focused on the duties and not let emotions run us over. Bottom line, just don't screw it up."

Piers has to admit, he is shocked by Marco's determination.

Never in his wildest mind he has ever thought of him as a man who would give anything for the person in his life, to the point that he would rather give up his career for the one he loves. Marco just didn't seem like someone who would do that, and Piers realizes how wrong he has probably been about this guy.

In fact, he had expected Carl to be that man of such devotion, but his marriage failed.

Just as how things would fail if he doesn't have the perseverance like Marco has.

But, that determination persevered in line of a normal healthy relationship. What Piers has in his heart now doesn't seem anything close to that. Besides, chances are…

"Ever heard about anyone in the Alpha team being involved in any relationships?"

_Chances are…_

"Nah, the only one who's ever been through it is Carl, but we all know how it ended."

"You mean everyone else on the team has never had a relationship with someone else before?"

Marco gives the comment some serious thought, brows frown and arched, "Haven't heard anyone's been out with a girl since I've known them."

_He's straight. He's got to be._

The natural comment left a sting inside Piers but honestly, what could he be expecting out of these military guys? They are a bunch of men whom at every given moment would probably be thinking about bumping into the girl next door to give them every reason to retire from this career and make their own lives out there. Sad to say, he too has the idea of the captain being equally on the search as well. The girl who would perhaps take him out of this war, give him enough reason to put down all the responsibilities he shouldered to lead a new life.

And Piers wouldn't be a part of it.

He would be left here in the B.S.A.A., alone and left to heal his own wound.

Piers would never leave the B.S.A.A. with such a noble cause for such a special person, because he simply wouldn't be out looking for one.

Which, made the captain came knocking at his door special. He couldn't evade it.

"Hey," Marco decides to reach out since Piers is giving him a silent response, one which he couldn't exactly pinpoint how to respond to and that this conversation is getting a little awkward for him to handle. As inexperience as he is with love, Piers has definitely come to the wrong person for advices.

"I don't know what you are thinking about but… I think you should talk to Carl. He's the successful one. Most of us are barely even close to nailing a girl."

_Hah, girl._

Piers gets where Marco is coming from. Even he is finding this consultation a little too uncomfortable for himself, but he really needed an opinion that wasn't his own. The walls have been dissuading his determination lately and the insomnia creeping around the borders of his bed is wearing his well-being down. The captain's over-concerns with his sleep nearly gave him a heart attack just the other day.

"Will do and… thanks for your time."

But Marco knows those troubled expressions never left Piers' face and for once, he feels a sense of helplessness supporting his own teammates like the captain always preaches.

* * *

Whereas Carl, in his disbelief, cannot believe Piers is at the library sitting across him, fingers interlocking with one another heaving a deep breath, attempting to arrange his thoughts into words. He puts his book down instantly, eyes darting back at the ace who seems to be having difficulty wording his situation, or even the reason why he is sitting here wordlessly.

"Piers?" So Carl, being the friendly guy on the block, tries instead, "Something wrong?"

Massaging the corners of his knuckles, Piers continues kneading his fingers until he feels the nervousness bursting out of his chest. In all honesty, he doesn't even know why he came looking for Carl. Simply because Marco suggested that he should, the tech expert probably implied he should but not without a question. And right now, he is stuck with no question because the man wedded a woman. He certainly did no such thing as to confess to a man. Not that Marco did, anyways.

Though, it doesn't really hurt to seek a third opinion, would it?

"It's just something trivial but I was just wondering… did you get married before or after serving?"

Carl grins to himself—so those tiny suspicions he has do really exist after all.

"After. It wasn't the grandest wedding but it was one that I could afford. She was proud of me, proud that I was serving but… I suppose she hadn't thoroughly thought it through regarding the consequences that come with it."

The regret lying at the back of Carl's mind is immense and it was a feeling that told Piers just how much the other soldier had hoped for his marriage to come through. That made him think about his mother, and her perseverance standing throughout those lonely nights when his dad had been outfield or in camp. What Carl's wife couldn't do, his mother went through all of it. Or perhaps because she had them, her children, she had them around reassuring her that the love is only growing stronger each day.

That perhaps is the beauty of having children, it ties bonds.

"No kids?" Piers asks, growing wary of his questions in any event should they get too offensive.

"Nope, we're still too young."

Clearing his throat, the ace tries to accommodate to the awkwardness of the topic, since it wasn't what he had wanted to ask or even know perhaps, but neither did it hurt to get know a little more about Carl. He should have started this a while ago in fact, he did promise himself he would.

"My… my mother was a tough woman. She brought us up when my father was serving the nation. I guess, other than her own resilience, our presence helped her through the difficult times. Perhaps your wife just needed something similar like this."

"Ex-wife," Carl laughs, "Yeah I know what you're trying to tell me. You have a point. But we were never ready to have a child to begin with."

"Perhaps there are just some things in life not meant to be prepared for. The responsibility of a child isn't about how far you have gone to prepare yourself, but perhaps the amount of love you are willing to sacrifice for him or her."

This made absolute sense if Carl has to say but at the same time, considering what he has conjured, the ace's suggestion might have just backfired since he isn't really preaching what he is saying. And as it turns out, to what Carl would like to think, he probably hasn't even realize the complexity of his words addressing to his own issues.

Which he figures, all Piers needed is his vote of confidence.

"Like love?" Carl gestures, "Love is something that hits you when you least expect it. Therefore there is no way you can prepare yourself for that, am I right?"

_Nailed it._ Carl nailed him hard and good.

Piers contemplates his answer, realizing how dangerously close the topic has instantaneously switched its spotlight back to him. He threads the waters, the straits of _love_ as Carl has put it and ventures into his possibilities, except there are none.

"Err-yeah," so he quips, "Love is a good example of that."

Grinning to himself, Carl leans onto the desk separating them, hands threading with one another as he smiles at the young guy, ready to pop his own list of questions, "So, you have a question about love?"

All right, why did no one tell him Carl is so intuitive?

Piers rests his case, feeling abused from the repertoire his mind has been enduring each day, thinking about his chances or what-ifs. He sighs as his head bends down, taking a moment to recollect his thoughts as he finally remembers the reason why Marco advised him to talk to Carl instead of the rest of them.

A quality only Carl possesses, far beyond what the others could offer him.

"When you married her, did you believe it was love? I mean, how do you know if… if it's love at all?"

Almost bemused, the question presenting itself cripples Carl's ability to think all at once, but he is quick to force himself back into the picture. This is a topic coming from someone who probably would never bother thinking about it unless it has happened to him. It calls for a pragmatic solution, to resolve the dubiety and confusion this incalculable element brings, but there is none so to speak. It factors in characters that the ace possesses, as well as the attitude that defines him which in this case, could have been the radical thoughts holding the ace back from whatever he is feeling or experiencing. But the fact that he is now sitting across the table asking him a question that has multiple answers to, Piers must be looking at a specific area that they are both somehow connected to in a way.

Except, Carl doesn't know what this connection sets them akin to one another.

"I didn't know what love was," Carl begins, slowly but of course, "I think nobody on Earth can tell anybody how to feel what they are feeling. I'm being metaphoric here using references from books that I've read but if it could happen in a fictitious world, it has the same possibility to happen in the real world as well."

Then the sudden shift in the atmosphere causes both of them to lean forward towards each other, seemingly paying close attention to the subsequent content each has to offer in it.

"My marriage… wasn't a spur of the moment. Okay technically, the proposal is but I had been thinking hard and long about it. It was into my fifth month in the military that I decided to enter into holy matrimony, but that was my third year with Mandy. When she agreed to my proposal, I felt like the happiest man alive but that was irrelevant, because I knew I was the happiest man alive the moment she accepted the relationship."

The last line made Piers think, hard in fact, at what Carl is trying to tell him.

Happiness that couldn't be bought with money and couldn't be measured by materials yet so easily obtainable if pursued.

Marriage is just a process of commitment; the type that shows the commitment both are willing to take in all phases of life, even though they have already showed that by being together.

And proposal is an act of spontaneity like an appetizer to the main course, something that isn't a must but can be a supplement if available.

"We didn't know how it started, this mutual feeling towards one another. It's more of a one moment we're just classmates in the same lecture hall and next we're having lunch together every time we have the opportunity to do so. You'd ever had one of those in colleges?"

Piers digs back, remembering the two relationships he has ever had in college and how badly he was told he fared in them, "I dated a while back when I was in college… but I didn't do things like eating or spending a lot of time with them. I was mostly on my own."

Disbelief is what caught Carl in mid-thought, and here he thought the ace must have had a wild but regretful experience that alters him so drastically to strive in his adulthood. In his own words, he didn't think Piers was anywhere as _anal_ as this. So the fact that he is coming to him for advices regarding whatever he is going through right now, the severity of the issue requires his attention right away.

"You don't like your past girlfriends?" This is probably a redundant question Carl realizes but he is curious to see how Piers reacts to it, "Then why did you date them?"

"It feels like the logical thing to do."

Carl is stunned, where did all those intelligence go?

"Confessing takes a lot of courage and guts and I believed those girls wanted a chance to try things out. So I provided a chance but I guess I wasn't ready for it either."

"Your empathy makes their love for you like it's for show, Piers. That's not how love is supposed to work," this time even the combat specialist takes a minute to scold the ace, "Love is not sympathy."

And he continues, "Love is the trigger that sets you off whenever you see that person coming your way. It is the constriction that makes you hold your breath every time you talk to this person. It is the need for worry whenever this person is out of your reach and strangely always on your mind. Love is the canvas that you envision a future together with this person, an action that makes you do whatever it takes to paint this portrait."

Although Piers understands everything Carl is trying to evaluate in his extravagant depiction, at the same time he starts picturing all the different circumstances he is placed in and his reactions to them.

While everything he says is really a little too exaggerated, discounting factors regarding futures and carrying them out, the first three sets his awareness high. He knows he has been doing those things, the nervousness he dips into whenever he talks to the captain, as well as the worry that goes beyond miles for his captain as compared to his other teammates. Like the civilian extraction a couple of weeks ago, the support he provided for the team in name, but personally he only wanted to aid the captain as best as he could to keep him safe and unharmed.

Not to mention the simplest touch of his hands over his skin feels unraveling, like a knot in his stomach demanding release.

And the genuine smile across his face that makes him feel so alive.

"Love is not a hunch, Piers. It's enlightenment, almost like an awakening."

_Chapped skin over those aged and perhaps experienced lips that he wants to touch them._

"It's something that you know, before you even find out how you knew about it."

_Contours over trained muscles he craves to have a feel of its naked skin._

"What about rules and protocols, consequences and responsibilities that forbade it?" Weight immense on Piers, those words came out far too quickly for him to stop them in time before his comrade may find out what he is actually hinting at. But as it stands, that is the bottom of his question, the same opinion he wanted to hear from Carl as he has heard from Marco.

Since he has set the sails on the ship, he might as well ride with it, "What if everything ahead stands against it and that this… could possibly be a journey with no end bearing no fruits?"

Discerning, Carl laughs at Piers' concern, confident and poised, "Do we ever let anything stand in our way? Has the captain ever taught us to give up if something stands in our way?"

Wait, that certainly… has a point Piers thinks.

"That's the last thing about love I was going to tell you. You'd never give up anything for this person. That's the one sign you can be so sure if you harbored any feelings for this person you're thinking of."

Now that just made Piers look at Carl with puzzled eyes, becoming too concerned with what Carl actually tried to imply in that. Leaning back into his chair, Carl folds his arms, smiling warmly at the confused ace. So that is the similarity between him and the ace, _an iron will never to give up._

"You don't have to tell me why you are asking all these questions. I won't even ask who exactly you are asking these questions for because I think it's your privacy. But since you asked me for all these advice, I just hope you'll find the answers to the questions you have for yourself. Don't run away from these fears you may have. Sometimes it's because of these fears you have for yourself that you end up missing the one thing that matters most to you."

Piers let Carl's word sink into him. He must admit the guy is much more poetic than he thinks those novels he read could have done to him but what he says has a point, in more than one way he ever thought possible in fact.

All those hesitations he had were never about _him_, never once he thought about giving _him_ up but rather the possibility of where the relationship is going.

"Love has no bounds—it's universal, genderless, nationality-less, ageless and all the others that I can't say all at once. All you need is a little belief and conviction. So long as you believe, something will work out."

* * *

The walls have completely stopped talking for good.

Even the skies in the night sky seem so much brighter than it had ever been for the past few weeks.

Piers feels the tiredness washing upon him earlier than his usual bedtime, the rest of Alpha still busily chatting and giggling amongst themselves. He will have to skip tonight's activities, he feels too tired to climb out of his bed to join them.

But just before he drifts off to slumber, he sees a smile radiating from the side of Carl's face then he goes out of the room with the others. For some unknown reasons, Piers finds comfort in that. It felt like Carl's reassurance to help him keep on believing.

Turning inwards to the wall, Piers closes his eyes as he dozes off to sleep, smiling to himself contentedly.

The cliff and dead end have disappeared.

* * *

The next chapter is going to be a breakthrough, and I'm sure it's the kind that everyone has been looking forward to.


	11. Guide 10: Fire

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_Writing issues here. It was difficult in certain portions and if I hadn't filter the unimportant parts in my mind, I might have clocked like 10,000 words in one chapter. But not too worry, the main aspects are all here, just the way they should be. I would say this is "the" chapter, if you guys are looking for something that is going to turn the pages between friendship and relationship. It has all the spices and all the textures, and I mostly had doubted myself over and over before I put this up. But yes, I'm comfortable with what I've written and bottomline is, we aim to please._

_It's 2013 already nonetheless! May you guys have a wonderful year ahead!_

* * *

_"Take me by the tongue  
And I'll know you  
Kiss me 'til you're drunk  
And I'll show you"_  
_— Maroon 5, Move like Jagger_

It was a good thing the captain came prepared. A reservation made two weeks for a table that could comfortably fit six men, a minimum tab required to open that table he was very willing to fork. Despite he might have been a little old to partake this night scene, he would do anything for his boys like the good captain he is.

It is a tradition after all. Alpha boys stick together, always.

So it is naturally understandable that everyone in line waiting for the entrance to open is a little—rather very jealous that this bunch of chaps are entering the premises even though the 'Full House' sign is placed right at the door. Discounting the fact that they are good-looking to begin with, the girls in line are dying to get in as soon as they can to find them whereas the guys are feeling a little intimidated by their presences. Competition indirectly meant they are going to have lesser fish to fish in the market tonight.

Meat market, grinding festival, whichever they called it.

In the first place, Chris would never encourage his men to come to a place like this for some drinking because everything on the menu is overpriced and the place is just too loud to be talking at all. But tonight is Ben Airhart's night nonetheless, so he gets the final say in whatever he wants just for celebratory sakes. Which brought Chris here, and the rest of the Alpha boys to a sea of crashing bodies and overly remixed music.

Heaven, or _Ciel_, is the hottest party club in all of London.

Ben is thrilled, so much so that this is the fifth time he has combed and adjusted his hair over the last hour or so throughout the entire journey over. Andy is almost amused yet disturbed by it, he knows what Ben has planned tonight since the captain gave them a curfew to be back in camp no later than seven next morning for morning drill. Everyone knows what Ben has up his sleeves but hey, he is just being the man he is on the inside after all.

And because nobody in Alpha turns down any drinking, happy drinking that is, so here they are, seated not too far from the dance floor by their table cracking two bottles of Macallan 18 with a tower of lager. Marco is excited about the drink; it has been a while since they have had anything else other than beer or ale. Hard liquor has its own uniqueness and this single malt concoction has never failed to deliver at its worth.

So how do they start? Simple enough, two shots of that expensive richness mixed into half a glass of lager, a birthday cheer and then slipping that opening drink down their throats in one breath.

Piers doesn't really know how to appreciate that, perhaps he is still bad with this crude drinking. He tries his best to finish the drink in one go as expected of, despite the heavy music thumping so hard is giving him a headache for after just ten minutes in the arena. The reverberation of its bass vibrates straight into his heart, the uncontrollable expanding makes him feel slightly irritated and dizzy under the spinning lights of blue and green.

"Are you okay?" Carl asks cautiously, noticing the queasiness on Piers' face when he plops onto the swiveling chair at once.

Much to Piers' surprise, Carl seems completely unaffected by the rave, just like everyone else isn't other than him. Boy, that is going to give Andy something to laugh at if he ever finds out about—

"Lookin' pale there, ace!"

—_this_. Speak of the devil.

"I think you must have seen a ghost because I feel perfectly _fine_ here." The second thing that Piers didn't like is the fact that they had to compete with music just to get their words across. He felt completely stupid screaming like morons.

That was when he felt the impact of the alcohol rushed past his eyes, feeling his head slightly heavier than before.

How heavy was Macallan again? Piers tries to grab the bottle to do a speed check, but is stopped by Chris for the captain thought he was ready for more. He pours another shot of that malt concoction into his shot glass, one for himself as well as he puts the remains away, bringing his shot up as he clinks with Piers. The ace is horrified that he has to drink another of these things before he even has the time to recover from the previous wave. But this is Chris drinking with him, joining his glass with his and inviting him to an open wager. The bets are off for now, if the captain intends to drink him through the night…

…then he's going to have to do his best to stay up all night.

* * *

"And I'd told you a million times captain, there's no better time than now."

Words' bursting out with no hesitation, Marco is now ringing his eighth shot _clean_ into his mouth, swallowing the poisonous liquid down as he slams the glass hard onto the table. "You'd promise you'll tell us about yourself since two years ago! Time to fulfill that damn promise you never kept!"

If Piers has to say something, then '_everyone is hazed'_ is what he is going to say. When he said hazed, damn straight he meant every bit of it because he is too, hazed thicker than he has ever remembered being.

He had also meant to stop at the fifth shot and fourth glass of beer, which he didn't apparently and so he is now on his ninth shot regretfully.

Even the music seemed to have merged with his own rhythm, the wild tantrums of its bass beat now flows smoothly through him, feet tapping against the chair as his body craves for the moves he is desperately hiding.

And besides, now that Marco has popped a question he simply can't ignore, he is patiently waiting just as the other Alphans are for the captain to spill his secrets. Piers is without a doubt excited about it—this is going to be an eye-opener about their officer to everyone, the personal side of the war hero Chris Redfield.

Tendering to his fate, he finished the open glass in a single swig as he puts it away, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, or memories in this case before he puts out the curiosity burning all of them.

"All right, you guys win. So, what do you all want to know?"

"What's your girth siz—" Came straight from a very wasted Ben who is immediately slapped in the face by Andy who still has a sense of semblance to recognize how inappropriate that question was. However the captain simply laughs at it, not that he is going to reveal something as personal as that no matter how spontaneous the merriment is driving, and throws the opportunity out again, in better hopes of something more decent.

Well, Piers is hesitant at this opportunity. This is the best chance to find out things he is curious about but then again, he probably has too many questions to figure out what he wants to know first.

Definitely not a question about his sexuality or preferred type of girl because it would devastate him.

Not a question about his family because that would just be too out of his business as well.

Food or maybe hobbies then? That sounds better in fact.

"I'll go first," Andy yells, taking another shot down, "W-what do you like to do in your own free time?"

Ben is clearly heard booing at the question, which in his dismay earned another slap to the back of his head by Andy who waits for the captain to respond. Chris laughs at the duo's interaction, but not before taking a little time to answer his soldier's query.

"Fishing. I like to take a boat out to fish in secluded places."

"W-what? Sorry but that's totally unlikely of you, capin." Marco intervenes the words, finding peace and fishing and Chris Redfield could never co-exist. "Tell me you love working out in a gym. That I'll believe."

Heartening, Chris chaffs at his tech expert's reaction, somewhat expecting that nobody is even going to believe that for a second because it just didn't seem like something he will do. But he has a reason for doing it and thus becoming something he enjoys very much in the heat of this war they are fighting.

"See, I don't really have to go to one since I have my own drills. But fishing is something else. It's a piece of quietness in this war we constantly fight."

When the captain puts it this way, fishing suddenly feels like some sort of miracle activities that the boys feel that they should do as well. Or perhaps that's their drunken alter ego deciding on behalf right now. But not Piers, he manages a straight face amidst all the haze he is experiencing to listen to his captain well, understanding that need for solace in any form one desires. Quite frankly, as much as he could muster, he would like to think that it is a wise choice made by the captain in fact.

Shirking the monotonous voice away, Chris immediately relives the atmosphere with a smile to his face, proudly and loudly joining mugs with his soldiers as he offers another chance to someone else out there. Hopefully someone who doesn't have a question that links to another depressing topic.

While Piers stalls at the opportunity again, it is immediately stolen by the unexpected Carl, who wickedly grins at him which in turn makes the ace very wary of what he might be asking.

And when the question is spoken, Piers is but all lost in his thoughts. The one thing he doesn't want to hear because it is going to shatter his secret hopes into a million pieces. All by the hands of Carl, the one whom he thought he could trust on an emotional level.

"Tell us about your previous relationships, captain."

Chris is struck stunned by the question at first sound of it, but in his ripe wisdom he would have guessed these are the type of questions young people would be keen to know about anyways. Otherwise, what else would they be interested to know about an old geezer other than his assumed years of love or rather sex experiences? And since he couldn't answer the dick question from Ben earlier, he should be able to do this at least.

"Yeah yeah, t-tell us about the girls you d-dig," Ben is half between foaming from his mouth by the alcohol intake or the punches he had been taking from Andy this whole time. Regardless, he is the blunt guy straight up with a twist.

Carl takes a moment to peek at Piers who is actually sitting beside the captain opposite him and from the look on his face, he knows he has made a terrible mistake asking something the ace probably didn't want to know. However his instincts are upfront and go as simple as the concept in his mind forms; if he doesn't know the truth, when is he ever going to start?

Oh Piers may have tried to hide it from him all right, but Carl knows his hunches are not far from the truth standing before him.

It may be bleak without certainty, but a chance at it is better than taking none at all.

And if he is taking one, he should be taking it only if he knows what he is gambling with.

"Well, captain?" Carl probes again, and this time he sees Piers hastily grabbing the beer mug chugging it down.

"I've been single for the longest time. It's kinda difficult to think about my previous relationship that's more than a decade old."

"What about girls in between?" The next question the combat specialist knows is not going to be easy for the one keenest to bear, "Any friends with benefits?"

Piers isn't too sure if he wants to know anything about this but he sits still in his chair, grabbing the alcohol unnoticeably and pours himself another helping. If he is going to have to sit through something meant to crush the last of his remaining hopes, he isn't going to be able to do this while he is sober. And for Christ's sakes, why would Carl ever do something like this to him? The ace thought he was a comrade, even a friend perhaps but to what purpose he holds in doing all this. Was this his ultimatum, to bluntly tell him that any love questions he may have asked him before, that this is his final answer to him?

_Just give up whatever you think you're harboring._

While Chris is busy collecting memories in his semi-hazed mind, he barely notices the dilemma across Piers' face until the latter slams the shot glass onto the table, relieving it of its content once more. Despite the captain feeling something amiss in the situation, he ignores it since he believes these boys are completely capable of taking care of themselves. So he completely missed the distraught look across Piers' face, leaving the ace gritting his teeth as the old soldier starts his piece.

"It's only natural that I have slept around occasionally when there's a need to."

_Maybe I should get out of here right now._

"But only with a willing partner."

_Shit, why does it feel so stuffy in here?_

"Usually the women hit up on me."

_And you just go to a hotel with them willingly?_

"And it's the usual talking and chattering before something happens."

_So you let anyone do anything to you as long as they come up to you?_

"It's not as though it happens all the time. Being who we are don't really give us much opportunities for such activity."

_That's why you just go for it when you think you feel like it?_

"Are you picky with your women, capin?" The curiosity fills Marco's words completely.

"I guess… I guess as long as it feels right."

_You mean as long as you feel it responding from down below, don't you?_

"So the women you've been with, any girls are exceptionally good in bed?" Somehow at the talk of sex, Ben rises from the table and throws his contribution to the pot of questions. Chris is but blank in thoughts, a little concerned with differentiating a woman being good in bed or not.

"How do you even judge that?" Chris laughs, taking another swig of the beer.

"You know like if s-she gives good head or she can f-fuck really well? Like if you think about sex, the first woman that comes to your head because she's t-too fucking good, or too f-fucking bad."

_Shut the hell up, Ben. I don't want to know._

While Chris gives some good consideration to Ben's questions, he suddenly recalls a name that strikes his mind immediately because that girl had really been a revelation in bed.

"Err, there's this one girl, I think back in Portland, met her in a bar. She was funny, hilarious and spontaneous. We had a good conversation for a couple of hours before she threw the question. So I went back with her."

"So, so capin. She gave you g-good head?" Ben's eager to find out, much more than the rest of squad because Andy is already knocked out cold and that could really be the best for him this night. Marco is half-struggling between a drunken Ben and his own drunkenness, but they are too keen to listen to this part of the talk so they do their very best to stay awake.

Carl has his eyes fixated on Piers now intently, watching the ace dunking the fifth shot down throughout this whole process. He might have made a really bad choice thinking it was for the best for him.

"She's really pretty that's for sure," Chris pours a single shot into his shot glass, knocking the drink that now tastes like water down his throat as he continued, "as for the good head part—"

_Shut the fuck up, Chris._

And immediately, Piers slaps both hands onto the table, shaking everyone on it awake as he gets up from his chair, breathing deeply while his head hung low. Chris is startled by the sudden outburst, turning to look at the ace who refuses to give eye contact to anyone before he steps away from the table, making his way into the dance floor. Safe to say, everyone is taken aback by his break. Despite how flabbergasted Carl is, he tries to keep his cool while considering telling his captain to go for the ace, except the officer is already long gone from his seat before he has the chance to.

* * *

Sliding through the crowds of bodies swishing and gliding against one another, Piers finally finds a comfortable spot and he doesn't hesitate to lose himself into it. He breaks into a slow momentum in the thriving beat, feet sliding across the floor before they recollect themselves back together. His knees gives in bending forth as his back leans backwards, welding his body in slick fashion for they repeat back then forth. Hands tucked in his jean pockets, he taps his feet to a beat synchronized to the music, rave mixed into a little techno until the lights dimmed from green to blue.

Something to distract his mind, something to clear his mind off the conversation continuously resonating in his ears. He doesn't need it here now, he wants it out of his system.

During the interchanging of soundtracks he listens closely, a sensual track starts where guys are grabbing girls around into their arms, working their bodies together for the guys press their pelvises into the lower back of their ladies. And these ladies promptly respond by propping their asses high and hard into them, relinquishing their needs to be touched in the strangers' hands wrapping around the ladies' torsos.

And just as Piers is about to leave the awkward social spot, a pair of hands catches him from behind, snaking around his waist rubbing softly against his hard pecs. Not sure if it is due to the fact that he has been drinking too much to be rational, the ace dances a little with the stranger whose hands felt as big as the captain sitting at the table earlier.

"Alone on the dance floor, baby?"

Until the voice ringing in his ears tells him otherwise.

He spins around instantly, moving away from the stranger who struggles to grab his wrist.

"Why are you running away? We can have some fun together… since we're both alone here."

It feels disgusting, and Piers is in between controlling his anger from either this stranger touching him or the impact of the captain's honesty or unleashing his wrath on this relentless asshole. He tries to maintain his cool as he shakes his hand away from the stranger, though the bugger refuses to let go and instead reaches for his other hand. It feels worse than before now, and the temptation to throw in that punch is greater than it has ever been across Piers' mind.

"Stop bothering the guy." In spite voice buried in the hypnotic music, the ace still senses the familiarity in it so he turns to find the expectant face grabbing the stranger's hand, twisting it so hard that the guy appears to be withstanding pain.

"W-what?" the stranger stutters, trying to maintain his demeanor, "Pick your own guy, dude. I saw this one first."

Now Piers really wants to put his fist between the bugger's eyes.

"He's not yours. He's with me."

Then flinging the guy's hand away with an offensive snarl across his face, it sends the stranger disappearing into the crowd quickly, eyes barely having the ability to even turn back to remember that face vengefully.

"W-what are you doing here?" Almost sulking, Piers turns away from the older male, drowning his hopes in the music while his body grooves to the fluidity.

Watching the ace before his eyes has never been as difficult as this. Whether it is the alcohol or the guy from before, Chris finds it almost unbearable to watch Piers moving in the ocean of grinding bodies and groping individuals. There is something sinking right into the bottom of his stomach, causing him to feel uncomfortable and frustrated. An argument forming in his mind, he looks at Piers who seems to have completely fallen into the music, his body sliding with such fluid grace that is burning his chest and melting his resolve. Being as hazed as he is right now didn't help the latter either.

So melting as he is, he reaches for Piers and pulls the ace into his arms.

Piers takes a deep breath when he feels the warmth of a body pressed against him. Hesitant, he slowly looks back to see his captain leaning to the side of his face, his arms too wrapped around him tightly, overlapping hands together.

"What…" murmuring softly, Piers is taken aback by his captain's behavior, "What do you think… you're doing?"

It no longer matters to Chris the moment he has Piers in his arms just the way he has been thinking about. All the frustration and constriction pooling in him just went away once he feels that body waltzing in his arms, the shape of his sniper hands once again fitting perfectly in his own. Something just felt right, especially the feeling his heart is experiencing right now, it just felt simply comforting. Nudging the tip of his nose against Piers' cheeks, Piers shakes a little in the captain's embrace, their bodies swaying to the slow interval in the remixing.

He doesn't answer Piers, simply dragging the ace to his rhythm moving to the left then the right. Feeling the hilt of his rear rocking hard against his hips, Chris indulges, and in a split moment Piers feels like he has lost his ability of speech. He wants to ask why Chris is doing this with him. He wants to know why the captain is leading him on, in this dance or even the hopes buried deep inside. But he isn't given the time to sort this out when Piers feels Chris' hands sliding off his own, now circling his fingers along the sides of his hips. He knows the captain is no dancer on his own, but now as he applies pressure pushing closer into him, Piers lets a sigh out silently, feeling an overwhelming need to stretch whatever opportunity he has on hand right now.

But his sigh doesn't go unnoticed for Chris felt the slight tilt of Piers' head brushing against his shoulders while his eyes shut for a moment in utter beauty. The haze may have clouded his vision, but he knows the one he has in his arms is Piers, his ace and sniper. Drinking that much shouldn't affect his judgment yet Chris is unable to let his hands go. He doesn't know what he intends to do behaving like this, neither he has figured out what he feels so right having the young soldier in his arms. He nuzzles his nose to the back of his buzz, the short hair prickling his skin where scent invigorates his senses.

Chris loses himself in the ecstasy as the music picks up its beat. He has never felt this unbounded by responsibility, obligations, deaths, and everything the military has made him pick up. Looking back at the ace in his arms, he sinks his face into his shoulders tightening the embrace, the excitement in his heart slowly rising with anticipation.

"I want… this moment with you."

In disbelief, Piers felt his heart stopped for a second before he registers the words his captain has just spoken. It was all it took to remove the last of his restraints and worries.

Racing with the raw music, the ace spins around in those arms, looking dead straight into his captain's mesmerized eyes rocking his body with the tune. There are some lines about kissing he heard, then some lewdness in descriptions, words that burn him so hard leaving his body snaking along Chris' hard body uncontrollably. That made the captain glare at him with hungry eyes, regulating his breathing as calmly as he could, mustering every control he has.

But the ace doesn't let his captain go easily.

Sliding both hands to the back of his neck, he leans close to his face cold and stoic, desperately hiding the fire that is about to burst from his chest. Torso to torso, Piers confines their chests against one another feeling the increasing heartbeat and the rising body heat. Instinctively, Chris slides his hands to the small of his lower back, interlocking his own fingers holding Piers in place.

It's unmistakable—Piers feels so right in his arms.

The desire in his gut heightens hungrily. Piers standing right before him, merely inches away from him sets a fire deep within.

A flame that won't dismiss even under siege for days of rain and snow it sits.

Piers looks back into Chris' eyes. He recognizes that same hunger he has in him since weeks ago, since the dreams he has ever had in those mazes, the good ones and the bad ones, the need to find the captain in it.

The need that dismisses the composure and rationality he has built over decade.

Music is lost in their world, and the audience along with it.

Either could no longer see anyone else but the one in front of them.

Either could no longer see anything apart from those alcohol-soaked lips, red and rosy.

Hands fisting tighter, fingers threading stronger, Piers could barely withstand the last strain of his control. But Chris is the first to break into words, breathlessly.

"… _Piers…"_

And the beast is unleashed from within.

Piers leaps into his captain's face, darting straight for his lips as the messy collision leaves Chris' hands searching for the back of his ace's head for support. It is hard, desperate, a dance for two hungry men who have been holding back every bit of fury boiling within. In the engagement, to his utter surprise even, what Piers has never expected was the pair of lips he presses so hard into began gritting his lips back in return.

The tension Chris bites into Piers' lips leaves him gasping, hands forcefully yanking the back of his hair in order to stay in control. It tastes so sweet, sinfully sweet and all Chris could do is to suck on those full lips, pulling and dragging them into his mouth then releasing them. However whenever Chris draws a breath back, Piers seizes the opportunity for another intimate connection. The taste of his captain's mouth is addictive, much as the tongue that attempts to slip into his.

And he gives no thought to stop his captain.

The noises continue to fade out on their own and all they could listen is the nervous heartbeat pounding inside. Rasping deeply, tongues wrestling for dominance until one runs out of breath. He enjoys the ravishing clearly, every bit of Chris' strength forcing him to bend under his will. His kisses feel surreal, the experience in kissing apparently much more than Piers would have expected but he isn't about to complain at this moment.

Like a mantra he repeats in his head, the feelings he has discovered and the dilemmas he has been through, all for this one moment to taste the fruits of his hopes.

But Chris doesn't allow Piers any time to settle whatever emotions he feels inside, because now he is sliding a hand under the bottom hem of the ace's shirt, rubbing the naked skin in circles soothingly. The more he leads Piers on, the more the young soldier is unable to rationalize the situation before he falls deeper. Despite trying to find the ability to recognize his situation, Piers is unable to resist the soft grunts escaping from his throat.

And these little voices only continue to incite the desperation inside Chris.

In a crazy fit, Chris breaks the sloppy kisses to drag Piers away from the dance floor. Blindly he follows, trotting and leaping in quick steps over stairs as he finds himself being dragged to the back of the club, a toilet sign hanging towards the corridor Chris is bringing them to. He jars the door open angrily, still silent throughout, shoving Piers into one of the cubicles before he locks the door away. Piers waits in anticipation, staring back into those predatory eyes craving so madly for him.

One quick move and next he finds himself slammed against the side of the cubicle, the walls rattling slightly when Chris forces himself onto him. They return to the heavy biting, grazing chapped lips with glace. Hands grabbing onto his wrists, Piers is restrained in every way he knows but he doesn't let his captain have it easy. And those lips, those experienced lips just drive him so mad.

Chris attacks his neck, sliding his tongue from the corner of the ace's lips down to his chin and jaw and then now running along the veins stretched in his struggle. It's tantalizing, Piers pleads in his mind, feeling the rough teeth chewing his flesh tenderly and the warmth of his tongue rolling over. As much as he tries to break free of his restraints, the harder he tries to break free from his bonds, the harder Chris forces him into the submission. By means to that, Chris knocks a knee in between Piers' legs to buckle his knees over, causing the young soldier to topple a little sliding down the wall. Leaning over, the captain presses his mouth over his soldier, engulfing the swollen lips once more.

Staggering, Piers finds himself gripping onto his captain for support while he tries to regain his steps. Such as so he feels a ripping of his shirt, the top two buttons flying off unsightly for the captain tears his collar to the corner of his shoulders, sucking the thin flesh over his collarbone with his teeth. He hisses, partly in fashion of the brutality served and by the fact that this is his captain devouring him in ways he has never dared to imagine. A burn almost sears right into his heart when he pushes the captain back with all his might to the opposite side, ramming the older guy back against it.

Chris watches it angrily, sore and redness of a mark.

The skin bruised so badly that it threatens to break, purplish beneath his mildly tanned skin where blood gathered thickly.

Piers pants heavily, taking a moment before their eyes fall back in line, captain to soldier, soldier to captain.

Then it repeats, the primal mantra of lips colliding and hands wandering.

It doesn't have to be said in Chris' defense when he finds those mouth-watering lips feeding him are something he couldn't deny. In fact, he appears to have loved them so much that they are becoming a form of addiction. And those lashes, thick luscious lashes unfitting for a man seem to have worked perfectly on the young sniper. That flushing face almost whimpering at his ministrations for the wound he bites continues to sear deep. He is in between tackling the kid back onto the other wall now or scrapping him clean off his garments.

The vestige disappearing into his pectorals sends a small signal straight to his groin in fact. He wants to see more.

"… you, captain."

But a voice stirs some semblance of reality back into his mind.

Pushing the haze aside, Chris peers harder into the details, which rocked the living daylights out of his drunken phase.

"I think I… l-like you, captain."

_Fuck, the kid's saying?_

Chris is starstruck, not in the good way however. And as every cell in his body seems to have calmed down on their own, he feels a pair of hands grabbing the sides of his arms holding him. Yet not actually holding him for him, they are holding the quiver his body seems to be shedding, trembling. He is shaking, so hard in fact he doesn't even stop when Piers is comforting him with such loving couture.

He heard those words. No, he didn't.

"C-Chris…?" Piers tries again, the pale features on his captain weighing heavier each second as time passes.

_He didn't say that, fuck. He's not calling me._

"Listen to me… please."

_The fuck you wanna say? That I fucked up?_

Chris is disorientated, and in all truth completely ashamed of himself.

He has just taken advantage of his own subordinate, hasn't he?

Then why is he still capable of saying those three words he has just spoken of?

He is just lost and confused. He is mistaking a moment's lust for something that isn't happening. Chris is almost certain he convinces himself. Piers is just too drunk, and drunken people do things they regret when they are sober. This is the perfect norm, because even he has had such moments himself as well. But he hasn't stopped shaking alternatively, probably because he isn't prepared to hear it one more time. This is a huge mistake, the drinking is a gamble he shouldn't have taken when he hasn't even figured out his own impulsiveness he has inflicted on Piers. Those actions he has taken on him uncontrollably whenever the ace tries to slip out of his sight before he thinks it is time to. Like leaving the cafeteria before everyone is done or retiring the night before his usual time, Chris doesn't feel comfortable when it happens. And why does he feel that way, it is a total mess unanswered for the record.

And he just took this pot of mess he sinks onto the streets of London, entered a club and unloaded it all over his ace.

The brilliant, hardworking and innocent ace he is so proud of.

_What the fuck have I done?_

"I… I like you, Chris."

And all hell breaks loose.

* * *

Oh yes, cliffhanger because I'm evil.


	12. Guide 11: Yesterday

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_Right so, cliffhanger. You guys' responses are fantastic. I'm glad you guys have stuck through that episodic drama in the previous chapter and now, I hope you're ready for more. _

_I shouldn't say much about the progress of things otherwise it's gonna spoil the drama and melancholy. Just lots of conversation. I'm sorta ready to face you horde of Piers' fans regarding this. But the reality of things in a relationship is far more than bittersweet, it's just bitter and painful. Sweetness is imaginary. Sweetness is rewarding. Sweetness comes only after all the pain has been paid. _

* * *

_"Yesterday there were so many things_  
_I was never shown_  
_Suddenly this time I found_  
_I'm on the streets and I'm all alone"  
— Guns N' Roses, Yesterdays_

Several hours of headache later, Ben lies flat on the cafeteria table as Carl brings him his lunch. Andy has taken a diet of aspirins since morning drill and as he is about to settle with only black coffee for the rest of lunch, Marco comes back with chicken soup for the comfort. Distributing the meal, Carl pulls up his chair before he grabs Ben by the collar, dragging the beaten young man up from his lethargy seen all morning.

There has been an eerie silence sitting around since morning drill.

"How did you get so beaten last night?" Ben laughs at Andy, who's sipping coffee after another tablet.

Groaning, or hoping that he wouldn't have to be explaining all this, "You must understand it has been a while since I've had hard liquor. I was indulging my chances."

"Overindulging," the snarky remark Ben quips is far from well-timed when Andy slaps him hard on the back of his head, reminding him that he wasn't the only one who went down the night before.

"I stayed up for the captain's question, you didn't." That didn't earn him a better placing either.

Carl laughs at the cross-interjections, placing his fork into the ciabatta sandwich when he notices Marco looking listless, stirring the soup mindlessly. Particularly sensitive to it, he gestures to the tech expert to ring him alert, who stares back as mindless as his soup has been.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good…" It's really hard to convince he is.

"Honestly you should've stayed up, dude. Captain's been telling us about his sex rendezvous and I was so near to nailing his jock size if you hadn't stop me the first time." Draining their voices out is Ben, who continues to grumble about Andy's interference the night before while the duo let their conversations die out naturally. But Carl isn't done.

"That's all you're ever interested, seriously though. You deprived or something?" Andy puts his cup down, looking somewhat serious with the question he just threw. Ben is startled, he thinks.

"Fuck you. I ain't deprived. There's a girl—" where he stops in mid tracks, busily going into the sandwich with his bare hands leaving Andy agape at his lousy diversion.

"You… serious? A girl?"

The slightest hint of a relationship inbound stirs the silent duo's attention, seemingly to have an effect on the both of them pertaining to a recent event they might have witnessed. Whether he had wanted to witness it or not, Marco dare not say, but it's a reality he has to bear, and not one he thinks he is going to share with anyone else there. Except, Carl looks like he has seen the same thing as he did, so what was there to share at all?

"Shut up, Andy. It's not what you think it is."

Wouldn't Marco have hoped that what had presented itself wasn't what he thought it was. As dark as the arena might have been, no matter the distance it took place on, there are just some things too prominent for the eye to miss. Then if you ever speak of the question, they would dismiss it like it isn't what you think it is, isn't it?

"Then what is it? A fling? Sure doesn't look like it to me."

And if you ever find courage to listen to the answer that actually comes, would you be ready for the truth? Is it possible to let it forever sit under the mirages of a fling or to substantiate the possibility of its growth? Marco presses his bridge under the intense glares from Carl. The guy knows something.

"Look Andy, I don't even know where this is going, okay? We're soldiers, man… we'll die anytime, any day."

"All the more you should learn to treasure each day if you're serious about it."

The food has already turned cold. Carl gets up from his seat this time as he trots over to Marco. In au naturel, he pats a hand on Marco's shoulder before gracing a smile across, inviting.

"Wanna grab a smoke with me?"

* * *

10/10. Perfect score.

Piers sits the rifle back on the ground as he climbs off the floor. He is alone on the outdoor range today, or maybe only because it's the lunch hour. It has been a while since he has taken any solo assignments in need of his long-range talents. But he didn't miss them, he has a team now. As the snow scurries in, the ace reluctantly heads back into the shelter. He has had enough shooting for the day.

Placing the weapon back in its locker, he pulls the gloves off his hands as he enters the bathroom. A couple of new recruits stare at him tersely, nervous before the legendary _BOAT_ in front of them. Such that they hurriedly thread the loose ends of their shoestring through their boot loops, tightening and fastening the footwear before they dart out of the stall. Certainly, they were intimidated at quite the level.

The empty stall brings no greater joy to Piers than it does now however. He needed the peace.

Other than the occasional droplets of water heard.

He undoes his shemagh, slowly slipping out of the pale khaki military jacket where underneath, a solid army green tank top hangs off his shoulders as he settles the outerwear on a bench. He stalls for a moment, staring at the B.S.A.A. patched sewn onto his sleeves. Water continues to drip from the tap. Piers then moves to the row of sinks and picks one that isn't leaking. Then he stops, and hesitates. Looking into the dry sink, he sees the mild cracks along the ceramic white.

He's nervous.

He hasn't look at himself all day since yesterday. Neck down and below.

He clutches his dog tags tightly in his hands, something that he doesn't wear most of the time in camp. There's a stain beneath the chain from where he peeks with tilted eyes.

So he looks into the mirror now, and lets go off the metal he holds.

Red. Bruised. Swollen. _Everywhere._

Piers runs a hand over his neck then to his shoulders. The blood hasn't scattered, they flourished like petals blown all over his skin. One stands out amongst the rest underneath the chain, black red and emitting signals of pain. He shudders in the cool air. There are a lot more of them over his collarbone and the valley between it. His hand glides across the broad of his collar now, the infectious-looking marks burning as he touches them. He shivers again.

_An imaginary pair of warm hands around his hips._

Looking into the mirror, he stares at his puffy lips. Slightly cut.

_Teeth chewing over his bottom lip._

Then he raises his hands up, handprints bruised deep into his flesh.

_Wrists pinned forcefully into the walls._

A faint scratch grazes over the corners of his shoulders. He almost missed it.

_Nails scrapping with the shirt ripped from his collar._

He almost felt his throat tightened as he frantically pants for air. Yesterday flips through his mind like pages of a comic book. Loud music echoes in his ears fresh, the sea of moving bodies and their passion lit aflame. Piers panics, he shouldn't even be thinking about it. Not since he hasn't seen the captain besides morning drill, not since their eyes have yet to cross their paths like the intimacy roaring in their minds on the floor last night.

_Piers…_

His voice speaks. Piers feels a chill running down his back, excitedly.

Backtracking, he wonders where in the world he pulled the courage he had the night before. It isn't him. He wasn't one known to break the ice and clearly what he has done did more than just that. It set the forest on fire. _It is him._

There was a stranger. Someone tried to touch him. His memory fogged. Then he appeared and backed him up. Stranger sounded offended but was sent away. He stayed and he watched. Piers remembered being upset with him.

It was the drink at the table. A conversation shared with everyone. Something pricked his ears, words that he didn't want to hear from his lips.

Piers goes back into the mirror once more, the hickeys haven't fade a tint lighter.

_The sex tales._

Turning the tap, he splashes cold water across his face. It stings bad enough to wake him up from yesterday's persistence. Slowly he lifts his head back into his reflection, watching the water droplets trickle down his face. He breathes deeply in the tight oxygenation. Tiny bubbles of mist forms as he huffs out, confused at the whole ordeal. If Piers could justify his own actions, then nothing made any sense on the other's part, especially since it appears to be intentional. How could he be intentional?

The corridor sings with incoming merriment. It was impossible to rationalize it alone, here, now.

Quickly he retrieves his jacket from the bench and slips it on, wrapping the gift around his neck as tightly as he could—as long as it shielded the marks of yesterday away.

He takes an exit while the soldiers flood the stalls. The coolness of winter breezes over the damp remains on his face. Another question pops in his mind this time, significantly more important than the others he wanted to know do. But with each moment he puts his thoughts into it, he feels the options turning against him, chewing him alive painfully.

* * *

"Remind me again how is it that I didn't know you smoked?"

Marco is offered a stick of red which he kindly declines. Carl smiles at it, hitting the pack as one stick pushes itself up from the rest. He puts the filter between his lips and tucks the case away. He clicks the ex-wife's lighter in one hand, the other shielding against the wind as the fire picks up immediately.

Of course Carl knows Marco isn't a smoker. What he offers by bringing him out is reprieve. Something he needs at this very moment.

"Because I don't most of the time."

Marco smiles, shaking his head a little realizing how right the specialist has been. The boys stand before the little porch extended from the cafeteria where a group of Delta soldiers has just cleared the smoking area upon their arrival. The noon is quiet and the sun has just peeked through the clouds. Carl inhales another struck of his reds, exhaling rather heavily however.

"What did you call me out for?" Marco turns his attention to dirty snow, trampled and stained.

"I think you needed a breath of fresh air from whatever you're thinking, pal."

It's an unsolvable mystery how does one Carl Alfonso know everything under the sun.

But Marco keeps his thoughts to himself. Carl might not have seen what he has seen so there really is no need to spread the hallucinations.

"You know, Piers came to talk to me once before yesterday."

Baffled genuinely, why would Carl mention _yesterday_ if he thinks he has seen nothing yesterday that was supposedly all part of his hallucination. Was it perhaps not a hallucination like he thinks it is? And as for the talking part, so Piers did take his advice to see him after all, did he?

"Then yesterday happened." Carl flicks the burnt end onto the snow. Ash over snow.

He's playing riddle, Marco feels. And succeeding in driving him up the wall with the topic of yesterday that he wants to hide so insanely from. It is resurfacing under Carl's provocations. Lying is clearly not going to work out this time. Lying the fact that it could be his hallucination is failing because it's not his imagination.

Carl saw what he saw.

"Let's cut the riddles and go straight to the point," the tech expert drops his body onto the bench aligned to the wall. "What is it that you want to say?"

Confidently, the specialist slides into the space beside his comrade, dropping the stub from his fingertips to the ground. He buries it in the snow.

"Did it offend you?" That was rather… blunt to the point, to his surprise.

"Offend me?"

Carl nods, "Yes, did it offend you? Did you find it repelling?"

It never once occurred to Marco that Carl can be forth front if he needs to be, probably because the guy has always been soft spoken and accommodating. Seeing this side of him first is a new discovery, direct and impactful. But this analysis isn't helping his case, for his hesitance shows his resistance to the situation. Right, yesterday.

_Dance floor. Captain and… Piers._

_Captain and Piers danced. Captain and Piers danced really close in the mixture of people. Perhaps the floor was too packed and they had no room to move. Captain had his hands to Piers' back… Piers pulled the distance closer. At this point, I remembered I threw another one of those Macallan shots down. I wasn't too sure what was going to happen. I wasn't too sure if I was ready for what was about to happen, which seemed to have already happened in my mind. _

_Then it happened._

_Piers, he… he ki… kis…k…_

"I don't know!" Marco throws his hands onto his lap, surrendering. Apparently the simple question isn't simple enough for him to handle. "I didn't see it coming! It just happened!"

"What just happened?" Carl asks. Nonchalantly, as usual. Marco isn't too sure what he is playing at.

"Don't ask me, ask them! You saw it yourself didn't you?"

"Saw what?"

"Saw what they were doing! There! In the middle of the dance floor!"

Marco didn't think the questions Piers had for him were directed to a man. Thinking about the responses he had given him then made him realize how awkward it must have been on the ace. Still, never in his wildest dreams he thought the captain would be involved in all this.

_I'm just curious about what do you think about the fraternization rules in spite of the feelings you have for her._

The precise reason he posed those questions about fraternization at him.

_Ever heard about anyone in the Alpha team being involved in any relationships?_

As well as his curiosity about their past possible relationships.

And deriving all the advice he had given him, his answer indirectly told him to just fucking go for it. Well fucking done, Marco Rose.

"Why is it so difficult for you to say they kissed?" Carl looks matter-of-factly at him, one look that almost brings him to shame. "You're disgusted by it?"

It is a fine line between appearing like you're in shock or you're disgusted. Although both involved being silent, musing and hesitant, what decides which line you stand is all in the mind, the acceptance. The debate between rules and emotions. Realizing what he had said to Piers in his own predicament, who was he to think the ace should abide by the rules when he told him he wouldn't for Jill Valentine? Since both Jill Valentine and the captain are the founders of the B.S.A.A., what actually differentiates him from Piers in the same scenario?

_Don't be stupid. Jill Valentine is a woman. _

Sure he could think of it as so, but would that make him homophobic? Marco certainly knows he has no qualms with homosexuals but if he protests in Piers' advancement, what would that really make him? A hypocrite perhaps, wouldn't it?

In the first place, why does he even think about stopping the ace? Who in the name is he trying to protect at all?

"I'm not disgusted, Carl. Heaven knows I'm not." It is the least he could say in open honesty.

"Then?" He pulls another stick from his case, igniting the tip. "What's bothering you?"

The captain, Marco thinks.

He wonders what the captain's approach is to all this… confusion. But… didn't he respond likewise? There might be a clash of lights and spinning flickers, but Marco knows what he saw.

_The captain… he put his hands around Piers and he kissed back. He kissed…back._

Were the both of them just lost in the moment? It was at this point Marco realized he had stopped looking at the dance floor when he accepted what he saw. Using the alcohol, he turned his mind off. Whatever happened, it was none of his business. He didn't need to know any part of how it started and definitely not the way it ended either. They are grownups, not kids in puberty.

They must know what they are doing.

Then why is it that Carl is asking him as if he had a part in all this? This is none of his business too, isn't it?

"Captain dragged him towards the bathroom, you know?" Carl is not helping at all.

Frustrated, Marco slaps the cigarette out of his hand and yells at him, "Why the fuck are you telling me all this! It's none of our fucking business!"

"Because you saw it. Not Andy or Ben but you saw it." The dry cigarette wets on the snow, the fuse burns out.

"So?!"

"Think Marco, think. Do you think you'll be able to look at Piers again if you don't accept this? Do you think you can give the same amount of respect to the captain if you don't digest this thing? Do you think this is something we can just pretend we don't know and just walk away from it?"

Just like that, the Alpha tech expert's face instantly goes blank.

Sighing, Carl bends his arms over his knees, "there's a reason why Piers came to me to talk about what he said. He was forgoing the last of his restraint. He was making a decision for himself. I told him to go for it."

Marco stares in disbelief, apparently there are two morons here who told the ace to go for it.

"I… I told him the same thing." Admittedly, he did. "I'm also the one who told him he should talk to you about such things…"

"Asshole."

"Sorry, but you're the best man for the job."

"Considering I'm the only one who has ever had a band around his wedding finger." Carl points the finger up like it is his middle finger.

"Yeah. That's right."

Then there is a brief moment of faint laughter before it dies as quickly as it came. Once it did, the air stills. "Are you okay about it then?"

Marco gives no thought, "What?"

"Them." Carl persists, "Captain and Piers. Are you okay with them or not?"

"Of course I'm okay with the both of them! They're part of Alpha regardless." Spoken like a true soldier.

"You do know I'm talking about the kissing part, don't you?"

The air thickens.

"I can't say I wasn't surprised how things moved so quickly from the dance floor to the bathroom—"

"Please," Marco halts, "too much info there."

"—uh, okay." Muffled laughs. "But what I wanna say is I'm all for it if they're gonna start dating each other. Our haphazard captain needs someone to man his funeral at the rate he goes. And it's about time someone showed up."

"So you're cool if they start banging each other?" Marco can be as stiff as a stick.

"That's. Completely. None of our business, pal. It's not our asses they're banging."

Hearing Carl say something as blunt as that for the first time again tickles Marco's funny bones, but the specialist has his point. Aside the fact that there was intimacy going on between two men, what was his problem with that to begin with? They're still the professional soldiers they are today as they have always been before yesterday, aren't they?

_Was it repelling?_ He didn't remember he felt like puking at the thought of it.

_Was it disturbing?_ Not that he is growing goosebumps from it.

_Was it offensive? _It's not as if he had the urge to put his fist on their faces.

So what was the problem?

"I… I think I was in shock when I realize it happened." There he goes, pure honesty as Carl perceives.

"I thought so," and he provides comfort.

"It's like… it's like a goddamn Easter egg surprise, you know? You never know what to expect and it just drops on you like shit from the sky."

Carl cocks an eyebrow, "I wouldn't use shit to describe this situation. It's wrong, pal."

"Sorry. I'm still in shock I think."

"Pronto. But you're good?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just let it sit for a while, eventually it'll blend. They don't look too bad for a couple if you actually think about it, except the capin's like… so much older."

That wins a laugh from the helpful comrade, "You better not let him hear that since he's just right across the shooting range over there."

And he is right. The captain is seen crossing the entrance of the range when the ace suddenly appears from the building itself too. Piers seems surprised, by looks of his awkward salutation that wasn't so necessary around the Alpha leader. They waited to see what becomes of them after yesterday, though what happens next came completely unexpected by captain standards.

He walks.

He didn't dismiss the salutation. He didn't gesture one tiny bit.

He passes.

He didn't look at the ace. He didn't look like he had spoken a word.

He walked past Piers as if he wasn't there.

Then Piers was left standing alone in front of the entrance of range, a hand to his forehead, staring at the empty spot. The invisible person.

Marco turns to Carl, the latter doing likewise staring, "Uh dude… we may have a problem here."

"A serious problem, Marco."

* * *

You just gotta love these two.


	13. Guide 12: Bounded

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_I didn't mean for this long break. There was a change in my work aspect and things are finally starting to turn for the better in this new year. I went overseas too, the first time to States and met all you guys' favorite Nivanfield author, harvincy! It was a blast there, and we even spent time playing a little Resident Evil and updating some small one shots in between. I would love to visit the country again someday, to all the different states to meet up with all authors and readers somehow, if only traveling hadn't been such a bitch up in the ass. _

_So that's that for the personal part update, partly to explain why this chapter came late. I immediately started on it once I returned home, I knew I was behind schedule for this and many others!_

_This chapter is probably... probably gonna invoke more captain haters but, but! Give the man a chance to redeem himself in the future alright? He has his fair share of concerns and doubts. Nothing lesser than his ace's for sure. So let's begin._

* * *

_"Suddenly the moment's here, I embrace my fears  
All that I have been carrying all these years  
Do I risk it all? Come this far just to fall? Fall"  
__— Christina Aguilera, __Bound to You_

A struggle between reality and the dream he sees. But he knows both of them are real. Both of them exist to haunt him day and night, in the reality of a person who has taken him out of his life, and in the form of a dream that constantly reminds him of what happened leading them to this stage.

Piers fights to wake from the nightmare again.

He's losing his third consecutive victory tonight.

* * *

The buzzer goes off at 0415 hours. That however, is pointless for the captain has been awake sitting by the side of his bed, watching the alarm going annoyingly off in the dead of the silence. He has been sitting there, in the same posture, for the last hour, the burnt tobacco breaking its tip onto the floor. Light breeze sweeps the ashes off then onto the ground again, his fingers motionlessly still holding the bitter filter. His eyes are red and deprived, dark circles wearing more age upon his stubble. He draws another long stroke and then sits his hand in its original place once more.

He hasn't been sleeping well. His body is breaking down.

But whenever he closes his eyes, he sees it like yesterday once more.

How many days has it been since it happened? How many days has it been since he has shunned Piers out of his way?

The boy has stopped coming to his office after he dismissed him from doing so. _I can manage on my own_, are nothing but a pack of lies. He has become delinquent with his paperwork and more in touch with the black coffees. Not surprisingly soon he finds himself having an affair with the dangerous addiction, all for the fear of falling asleep and seeing things he didn't want to see anymore. Caffeine has become his solo diet, and it freaked Carl out the other day when the soldier saw six cups of it even before noon.

Chris taps the cigarette filter one last time before he turns the buzzer off.

He can't afford the lack of sleep any further than this.

_In ample tasting of desire and want, the succulent lips nipped between his teeth he devoured were the most delicious taste of a person he has ever come across in his life._

He is losing the battle inside.

_I need to stay away from the boy._

Stubbing the filter out in the old ashtray, he straightens the sheet before grabbing the coat by his seat. The month is February and winter snows in its midst. He sips the cold coffee on his desk, bloodshot eyes staring out the window. Another day of pretense after seeing the dream, another mile to walk further away for their own good.

Thirteen days since it has happened. Twelve days since he has lost Piers in his eyes.

* * *

_The hands gripping his collars are tight and shaking. Piers watches the man before him drop his head low, avoiding the eye contact he is desperately holding up. This is not how he has planned for things to go. These are things not meant for him to know, not for now at least._

"_I… I like you, Chris."_

_But before Piers could make amendments to the words, Chris beats him to the punch. Not in a favorable disposition however, precarious and susceptibly dangerous._

"_You're… lying."_

"_Listen to me," The worst of his fears are slowly emerging as he watches the captain back away from him. Fingers loosen around his collar while they slide away from him, and Piers is desperate to hold them from running away from him. This is not how it is supposed to go. "Don't go, listen to me—"_

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Chris' voice blares in the restroom, the echo within the cubicle louder in severity._

At this point, the screaming would usually wake Piers up, but tonight his eyes aren't budging no matter how alert his mind is. He could almost feel how awake he is but he is not coming out of the dream. They aren't going to just feed him fragments tonight it seems, because Piers now finds himself struggling in the nightmare of his reality.

_He watches Chris back up to the other side of the cubicle, leaning against it as he takes a moment. Piers is eager to speak his mind but the anger in those words earlier stop him. Biting his lower lip hard, Piers clenches his fist tightly, almost tempting to pound at the invisible wall separating the both of them in his imagination._

Like his real hands fisting the fleece, his heart pounding wildly and painfully at the memory.

_The silence hurts him so bad that the water leaking from the tap is beginning to cut his ears. This is not how he wanted to do it. If only Chris could listen, if only he could listen to what he has to say about that sudden confession, the seriousness behind those three words he said to him and how much he means it. But the man across him only stands very still, almost ghastly dead stiff, and the indifference to react only seems to cut through every part of his body he has ever touched deeper. As the warmth left, the bruises slowly travel towards his core._

_What was once untouched, pure and innocent now battered and bruised, used and trampled by Chris' nonchalance. _

_Nevertheless Piers is a soldier, he's a man. And he will not let himself be defiled without his mind spoken, without Chris knowing the truth._

"_Chris—"_

One hand leaves the fleece he has crumpled, reaching for an unknown something in the air. He would be seen delusional, but he is fighting.

_He reaches out for the captain once more but his hand is deflected by a back slap. Piers stares at the hostility, though any word about to be verbally formed is silenced by an arm pressed to his collarbone. The hold is as merciless as the striker, and when he looks up, those cold eyes melt away every last bit bit of his burning hope. _

_Hollow, distant, and emotionless. _

"_Don't," Chris huffs lowly, "don't say another word more."_

And all he could do now is mouth his captain's name in the cold room where everyone is sound asleep, lips quivering with him stuck in between his phases begging for a chance to speak.

_Pulling back slowly, the glare diminishes for he jacks the cubicle door open, slamming the door to the wall before he storms out of it. Two men stiffen at his loud footsteps, watching him yank the restroom door open and disappear into the club. Out of sheer curiosity, the bystanders peek into the damaged cubicle to find a young man lost in thoughts, his back slowly sliding down against the wall before he drops to the ground. Shirt pulled apart, hickeys freshly grown, they take in consideration to leave the boy alone making quick steps to exit the place._

_But before the cubicle door returns to its original closed state, one of them caught one last look at the boy whose eyes are glued to the floor, a single tear trickling down before the door seals shut._

_Piers holds his breath while the door closes beside him, knees bent to his face in utter disgrace. Humiliation. He feels pain somewhere inside. _

_He's not going to say where it is coming from._

Just as he is not going to admit where the salty fluids stuck on his face came from the moment he finally opens his eyes.

* * *

"Captain?" Carl knocks before he enters the office, a cup of coffee in his hand. A handover from someone discreetly. His captain looks bad, out of shape and better summarized in two simple words: fucked up.

"Yeah? Oh, thanks for the coffee." Chris points his index finger at the makeshift space beside his work phone, an awkward surprise for anyone else to bring him coffee other than the one who's always been doing it. "You need something from me?"

Once he settles the coffee, the combat specialist pulls a set of keys from his back pocket and lays them on the table. Chris looks at it in amazement, actually forgetting that he has left them with someone else and not been wondering where they have been all this time away. The lack of the need to step out of camp certainly doesn't ring a bell for its inexistence.

"Oh err, thanks for that. Never quite remembered where it went to." Quickly, he takes the keys from his table and shoves it into an open drawer, putting them out of sight.

Carl is discerning, arranging all the things he has seen that night into a complete set of scenario he has come up with. Playing coy however, it's much better to hear the captain defend himself should he be lying about it, or about the rejection he shoved onto Piers just that day outside the cafeteria.

Piers has never been quite the same ever since that lunch. The ace just missed three shots at target practice the night before. Four two lunches prior to that.

"Pardon me sir but, why didn't you want to go back with us that night? You do know we could've waited for your return no matter how long you'll take."

Alarmed, because he has been trying hard to forget about that night, Chris would have attempted to bolt for the door if he weren't half the man he is. Carl's concern is unexpected however, bringing up insignificant matters from two weeks ago at a time like this, where he could almost say the intention is deliberate. But too much confrontation would reveal too much in this case, and too much is something he is all out to defend from exposing.

To protect what's left unspoken between Piers and him.

"I needed a break from the place," smoothly, word by word, "figured I might take too long for you guys to wait up so it's best if you take them back, especially since some of them are pretty wasted."

Perfect.

Well almost, until a flicker of his eyelid jumps uncontrollably causing his subsequent attempt to rub it off too unnatural by any standards. Carl observes, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. The captain has certainly lost his usual demeanor. His game is weak.

Anxiety worn upon his weary face, rugged pants under his breath, the mess of paperwork scattered all over his desk and the incessant need for that cigarette intake. He would have looked like a vagrant on the streets if they hadn't known otherwise. Reeking of smoke and distress, despite not having work affected, it is nonetheless a terrible sight to see. A man who can deliver his work but on the verge of being dysfunctional on the inside, an uncanny resemblance to the other man sleeping above him on his bunk.

Carl sighs. As far as these two people are walking apart from each other, they are tearing up the synergy in the team along with it.

"I see," he resigns, saluting before exiting the room. This isn't something he had a say in. They have to work it out on their own.

Chris acknowledges his dismissal, sinking back into the paperwork while taking another sip of the fresh coffee.

"Do cut down on the caffeine intake though, capin. It's getting too dangerous."

* * *

_So this is how you feel denying yourself of the feelings you have._

Piers treads through the snow as he departs the library, halfway through the covered field while praying the season to end soon. He notices some other recruits taking their time smoking at the entrance of the building, laughing among themselves. Upon closer look at the facility, he realizes it is the training block where he bumped into the captain nearly two weeks ago when all of it started. He steps away from it, further into the field until he feels safe from it.

Rejection feels… strangely hurtful. Or does it only hurt because it came from someone whom mattered to him?

Considerably, this is a brand new experience for the young ace. He's not ignorant to the aspects involved in a relationship but to actually be in the picture is much different than listening or observing. Girls complaining about how hurt they feel over a fresh breakup would usually appear to be too exaggerated. And in spite the exaggeration, still, Piers wonders if he could relate a little of his present state to it. The things he has heard from other people when they encounter unexpected breakups, the amount of control they have to exercise in order to accept reality kicking in.

_Wake up from your fantasy_ the reality said, what has gone wrong while you've been in it this entire time is the question you really want to have an answer to.

Knowing what happened is not difficult because Piers knows exactly how things escalated to this. He knows it would be unrequited all along, so the outcome shouldn't faze him as much as it did now. But the fact that it has him thinking and dreaming about it over the last two weeks, he is worried he is becoming a victim of lov—

Not the best time to realize how foolish he has been false hoping.

And there is something magically difficult about saying that four-letter word out. Loud or not.

As he takes a corner turn away from the building, he stumbles upon the officers' building just before their bunk quarters. There is light peeking through the blurred window few storeys above ground. The level unvisited for the last two weeks.

The cold is about to penetrate his boots since he has been standing still in the snow for the last five minutes just staring beyond the glass. He is waiting for a glance. One tiny little peek. The good half of his brain chastises how stupid he is behaving and he should just let all fade to nothing with time but the other sibling part couldn't say goodbye. His feet are turning numb but he refuses to leave.

He pulls the shemagh tighter around his neck.

It feels so warm that it is almost suffocating him.

But all he could do is to hang onto it. Die in the cold or die in the heat.

_Die rejected… or die holding onto it._

A shadow passes by the window and stills. Piers knows who's behind it.

This is point break. Hopes that he yearns happening happen, yet so lost to what to do about it once it does. He stares at the silhouette in the distance while it returns standing by. He should run. He should be running and not looking back at his foolish self stuck in the snow like this. He should be leaving those feelings behind to let them die in the cold. He is made tougher than this to have come this far in the B.S.A.A.

_So take the goddamn shemagh off your fucking neck._

_Do it right before him._

But just before Piers could even reach for it, his feet moved. His numbed feet race through the snow, charging towards his quarters just right behind. Face flushed in the cold, he darts straight into his quarters, chest tightened and his heart abused. He knows he shouldn't have done what he did. The captain clearly wants their distance staying apart so why, why is he standing there waiting like a fool?

A glimpse of recognition.

_Stop pretending I'm not there._

The accomplishments he has earned.

_I know you can see me._

Just remember the reason he was placed in Alpha and let things go back that way.

Piers punches a fist against the wall. The imaginary warmth continually binds him like vines on a fence. A soft whisper of his name, the courage to take a leap of faith, and then he was burnt in the flame. But despite scorched, the bonds never let him go. Staring at his wrist, he remembers the bruise branded onto him before it faded away. Just as the bite marks did. They tied him firmly to the ground and even though he had run away from the spot outside the window minutes ago, he felt like he was still there looking at him.

Everything discolored like snow in the night sky.

And he is bound to the one thing that only had the color in his life. The only thing that was colder than the snow covering his feet.

Bound to his own demise.

* * *

The silhouette on the snow disappears. Technically, Chris watched it ran away. It may be unspoken but no doubt he knows the person was staring right back at him. When the body vanished before his eyes, he opens the window in search of it, a rush of cold wind flooding his stuffy office. The paperwork fly from his desk, knocking his cup of coffee placed at the corner of his table. He hisses distastefully.

Quickly, he gathers the paper on the floor and arranges them in an empty tray. Then he tries to spread the coffee spill off the edges of the stained reports in his futile attempt which he has to give up no sooner. He fans it lightly before putting it under his table lamp, where he then notices a tiny note slipped under the corner of his work phone where his car keys were. Unfolding the note, he sighs heavily upon reading.

So that's why he was standing there in the snow.

And why Carl made that remark.

Does he look that bad on the outside?

Chris crumples the paper in his hand, feeling the silent bonds wrapping around his fingers lacing with guilt. He knows this handwriting. Though the important question now is, when did he slip it in his office? Maybe through Carl earlier in the day, or perhaps just being stealthy? But above all that, one thought remains. Considering all he has done, why does he still deserve the concern?

_Double-check the caffeine, sir. It's getting unhealthy._

Closing the window, he pulls the bitter green jacket around him before he turns off the lights in his office. Then he makes way down to the first floor, pulling his cigarette case out when he feels a tiny piece of paper in his jacket pocket. A ticket stub he realizes, and upon closer inspection, it is a pair of them to a carnival a couple of months ago. He remembers the carnival and even more so, the person he took with him.

Cotton candy and a plush bear.

A little girl and her prince charming.

The beautiful smile upon the prince.

"Goddammit," Chris curses, tucking the ticket stub back into the pocket in exchange for the cigarette. And if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, the building to his distant left is the exact one where he bumped into the ace when he asked him out that very first time. The night where he was frantically finding him in the library or at the training block and then just right there, he met the boy there.

_That's an order._

He laughs at the memory, in his shocking awareness; smiled at the interaction between the both of them.

He misses that smile.

The smile outside the carnival and the one out in the snow, he is enthralled by it. That one good reason he couldn't let go of what happened that night two weeks ago. What if he knew exactly what he was doing in spite knowing how wrong it was? What if he actually had a hunch on Piers and was doing nothing but leading him on subconsciously? What if Piers didn't say those words then… what would he have done?

Chris isn't sure if he could stop himself then, which is why he panicked. He didn't think he could go so out of control even for a second in his life. If he didn't had the right hunch on the ace, he definitely had one on himself; a bad one in fact.

_He smelt of belief and adoration. And I crumpled the petals with my bare hands. _

Everything reminds him of him.

And he couldn't run away from everything, not when everything is bound right back to him since that night they connected.

_Merry Christmas, Piers._

* * *

_**A/N:** I was told that I should probably give a heads up in case people are tired of Piers being the lovesick puppy all the time. Because, this is not going to be a trend. He's still the logical man I've known him to be and will make the right choices for himself. So basically, lingering is not his style and I'm keeping it that way. But what comes after that decision is but a race for the captain to chase after._


	14. Guide 13: Restart

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_A little rambling about my present life: It's still busy as hell, in fact worse than before. But I think about this story everyday, and the occasional reviews I get from you readers have really supported me a long way. I try to fork out a couple of hours to write each night and do extensive work on it on the weekends whenever I'm free. I'm actually really thankful that you guys are still sticking around waiting for updates because it motivates me even more to do so. So, thank you all!_

_Other than this Nivanfield, my other two-shot is currently put on hold because I realize there is so much development I can put into that story to make it more than just a two-shot. I'm still contemplating if I'm going to redevelop my original plot or keep the way as it is. For those who've read it, feel free to drop me any suggestions you might have, like if you want to see it expanding or whatever. It'd be cool to hear from you guys._

_I have to store all my emotions for the next big break in this series. So ready or not, here we go._

* * *

_"A hundred days have made me older_  
_Since the last time that I saw your pretty face_  
_A thousand lies have made me colder_  
_And I don't think I can look at this the same_  
_But all the miles that separate_  
_Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face"_  
_— 3 Doors Down, Here Without You_

Upon the end of the dying winter, the breath of a fresh start awakens the European branch with the breaks of choppers and SUVs into the compound. This marks the day of completion. Today, the European branch is fully functional with their fresh batch of recruits ready to serve the B.S.A.A. alongside the veterans. All branches have sent their warm wishes to welcome the newest branch into their operation and that included the representatives of these offices visiting the new compound to familiarize themselves with the new people.

The first to arrive is the team from Oceania. Delta leader has personally led them to begin the tour around the premises. Everyone is excited about the new branch, especially since one of their famous founders is personally leading their troops.

"Nervous?" Marco smirks, at prompt attention behind their leader.

Carl grins lightly at the whisper whereas Andy continues to bite his lip, "You know I hate this."

Pacing up and down, Chris takes another glance at his watch. But as he looks up from it, he realizes Piers is right next to him and he instantly looks away, quickly pacing back to the end of the line. Piers tries to ignore it and succeeds this time, albeit still bothered by the indifference from his captain.

Chris on the other hand knows he's being the worst asshole of the century.

This is obviously not going to pan out the way he hopes it is going to because he is not doing it right. Shunning Piers out of their usual routine and clearly avoiding him is apparently not the best plan he should've come up with. He thought by putting distance between them what has happened can be forgotten with time. Unfortunately, it only created a bigger awareness whenever they see each other, that being every day of their lives. It becomes harder to ignore, yet the only way out is to keep ignoring.

And just the other day when he was filing up a report on their latest mission, he instinctively called for Piers in his office to draw up the casualty reports when the ace was no longer there. It was that very day when Chris finally admitted to himself that this isn't going to work anymore. He gave it a little over a month and results weren't showing. It was time to find an alternative.

So when he actually sat down and thought about it just a few days ago before today, he actually convinced himself to try and mend the distance he put away from Piers. But as he could see it for himself, his reflex certainly made the first step towards the change he harbored in his mind. The first step _further_ away that is.

Of course he isn't going to let Piers find out that he is internally struggling to get them both back together on good terms. Think about it: the man who tries to be nice to you subsequently pushes you away over a mistake unconsciously made and then tries to close the gap he makes after he realizes he shouldn't have brood over the mistake in the first place. Even reading that in his mind is a pain in the ass Chris believes, moreover it being the actual truth slapping him across the face. Hypocritical? Oh yes, definitely in his circumstances.

Especially when there are times Chris believes he knew what he was doing back in that cubicle.

Which led to only one thing, or only meant that one thing—_he wanted it._

"Chris!"

A vibrant voice yells in the distance as a pair of representatives exited the SUV, one of them waving at the captain. The boys behind their leader reposition themselves smartly as the duo step forth, beaming broadly at their prim appearances.

"You certainly trained them well." Another member grins before his partner throws a pair of hands around the captain with the latter returning the gesture warmly.

"Gotta stand up to Alpha," Chris laughs, loosening his hands from the embrace as he introduces his team to them.

Each of these boys salutes to the famous celebrities, shaking their hands hard and firmly as they exchange names proudly. It is a moment of pride and glory to stand before the other heroes of the B.S.A.A. who have aided their captain against the tyrant Albert Wesker. Humbly however, these two heroes compliment with high regards for the Alpha Team in view of their recent successful campaigns and rescue missions conducted in Eastern Europe. They say they have heard good things about the team's performance and coordination, and how these have prevented casualties involving in any situation.

And that puts Piers in shame; it wasn't that _perfect_ should truth be spoken of the early days.

"Captain Redfield trains the best soldiers in the B.S.A.A. indeed."

Chris rolls his eyes before lightly punching the back of the man commenting, "Shut up Josh. You saved me back in Africa."

Amused, Josh stands straight before saluting the good captain, "And you saved the world, Chris."

"Yes you did." His companion joins the conversation, "Which is why Command put you here."

The boys watch the three veterans chattering amongst themselves, mostly just Chris arguing he didn't do as much as what the others think. They almost feel insignificant in comparison to what these three have accomplished, even though the entire European branch does recognize the achievements Alpha has acclaimed. That especially goes to their captain, who has habitually dismissed any commendations coming to him for he rather shares the success with his team. It is this selflessness the captain possesses that draws Piers' high respect for him apart from the other conflicting feelings he has, in spite of the iceberg standing in between them now.

Yet he's just contended peeking from the tip of the ice. Seeing his captain enjoying the presence of his African friends, it is already more than he could ask for. A smile he hasn't seen for the longest time.

"You can say all you want but I just wanna say it's good to see the both of you again. Sheva, Josh."

As soon as he concludes, he gives order to the team to stand at ease before they begin their tour around the compound. Marco and Andy takes turn to lead the introduction whereas Ben, Carl and Piers march behind the captain with his guests. Taking cue, the combat specialist distracts Piers' trail of thoughts ever so frequently whenever he sees the ace falls into distant space.

Puzzled at Carl's attempts no less, though Piers is irritated, he is thankful for Carl's attention regardless. God knows he might show himself if he continues to stare at his captain this blatantly.

And that is definitely something he doesn't want his captain to notice given their current situation.

* * *

It feels like home. Sheva smiles at the familiarity of the soldiers queuing up for food at the counter as Josh returns to the table with a tray. The other Alpha boys have taken a table for themselves, leaving their captain to catch up with his old partners in the years they have been apart.

"Some things never change, don't they?" Sheva begins.

Chris sips his coffee, "There's nothing much to change about the cafeteria, isn't it?"

They laugh at his interpretation, Josh a little louder, "She's talking about the line of our work."

"As long as there's another lunatic out there, we can never rest."

If there is one thing similar to the day Sheva first met Chris, it is that tone he used. A voice that dreaded the reality of things, things he didn't want to accept she supposed. His indifference to the many things around him, so much so that he has lost the past rigor he had in him. News kept itself low and no one outside the North American branch knew what happened then, or perhaps, even only a handful of people were given the update.

The loss of Jill Valentine was kept silent.

And it appears that same silence seems to hang on Chris as heavy as it did back then.

They both can tell he's putting on a strong front. However the weight of the words he has chosen occasionally gives him away, exposing the loom he desperately hides. They would give anything to help the veteran captain, if only he let them.

"Sounds heavy from you. How are you going to motivate your men with such weight on your shoulders?" Josh speaks strongly, "You should share the load."

But as soon as he lends the support, it is immediately turned down by Chris shaking his head, taking another bite of the sandwich in his hand. Yet surprisingly though, the smile he follows up with is genuine after he takes a glance at Josh. Sheva smiles to herself soon after Chris' gesture, noticing the slight dab of mayonnaise near her partner's mouth whereas he remains oblivious to his embarrassment. She presses a thumb beside the sauce as she swipes it away, earning a shy smile from the older guy who carelessly brushes his face with the back of his hand upon her kindness.

The moment they shared with one another is not unseen though, not exceptionally to Chris who senses something fishy. Likely, his own lack of update on the contrary.

But he isn't the one picking up the signal.

"What am I missing!"

Sliding onto the empty chair beside Chris is the smart representative of the North American branch. Sheva sparkles at the welcoming visitor before she leaps into a conversation, clearly ignoring the men present at their table.

"So nice to see you, Jill!"

Grinning, she elbows into Chris' back, knocking the captain out of his thoughts as he gets dragged back into present time, a little unsure as to how he got tossed into his space unknowingly yet again.

"You too! How's it going, Josh?"

Josh acknowledges firmly, "Never been better. How about you, Jill?"

"The usual. Just organizing missions back at base most of the time. I hardly get into the field these days."

"Doing Command's dirty work," said Chris, and they all nod in unison.

A small laughter sets in after that which suddenly erupts into a wordless phase of the African duo giggling among themselves. Jill and Chris both continue to stare at them from their side of the table. They seem to be sharing a little private joke that's obviously unknown to the Americans, but that isn't the thing that's catching their attention. There's something about the way they are looking at each other that makes it impossible to ignore. Not even the blind can stay blind to that.

Mirth. And mirth makes Jill curious for all sorts of reasons.

"Are… we… missing something here?" Devious and mischievous, the blonde takes her chance.

"Unless we must have tripped and fell on our heads and lost a memory somewhere behind, then yeah, we're definitely missing something here, Jilly." Reinforcing her cue is the captain, grinning like the old and wise amidst them.

Despite the curiosity invasion, they don't seem to be thrown in a loop however. Not shying from the obvious teasing, Josh reaches for his partner's hand resting on the table before he slides his fingers between hers. She returns the gesture by interlocking their hands together, returning a broad smile with her confident captain at their friends.

Folding her arms, Jill leans back into her seat while her lips curl in, "Oh. I see where this is going."

Chris decides to mimic her action, taking rest in his backrest, "You two sneaky little…"

"Oh we wanted to tell you in person!" Sheva couldn't resist. "Telling you on the phone would be meaningless!"

"How long has it been!" Letting her girly hormones take over, Jill leans over the table as she eagerly digs the insider's info. "I'm guessing two years."

Sheva shakes her head, "A little under… but we're ready."

Ready doesn't really sound like a word to use on a relationship in Jill's opinion. It is an open-ended comment, even Chris is aware of it. Coming off his casualness and shedding the light, Chris stares in amazement at the flushing glow on Sheva's cheeks. That's a sign he tells himself, turning to look at Jill who looks back at him. It is shocking as they speculate, but in a line like theirs, they could sure use a piece of good news every now and then.

"Are you two… getting married?" Chris asks.

Humbly, or shyly, Sheva admits, "Coming this fall."

In comparison to Josh who seems perfectly fine at the announcement, Chris thought he would've have dug himself a hole to hide his embarrassment if his partner is proudly announcing their wedding indiscreetly to their friends, just like what Sheva is doing right now in his horror. He didn't think he would be the type to be able to commit himself to something as lifelong as marriage. He's on the brink of divorcing his job he last checked, wanting out but he knows he just can't leave it.

Wait, that almost sounded like _someone else_ instead of his own job.

"Oh my god you two! Congratulations!" Jill exclaims in delight, "Remember to send the invites!"

"You bet we will," Josh finally shows his excitement this time, something that Chris is still amazed at, "You'll come, right?"

The blonde smirks at that, "We won't miss it for the world!"

"But… aren't you guys worried about… you know? Like… the nature of our work… the risk and…"

What made Chris blurt that out is completely unknown, but it is too late to take those words back. In spite Sheva and Josh have taken the question completely harmlessly, Jill didn't. She knows why Chris is asking a stupid question like this.

A stupid man stuck in his own stupid dilemma searching for answers that are already right in front of him.

"Yeah we know the risk we take every time we step out on that field, Chris."

Josh shifts the cup in his hand, swirling the drink counter-clockwise. He thinks about the good men died in battles and the countless dangers they have encountered. Even when Tricell lost its credit, it took some time to restore balance. Amidst that, they still lost men, like it was part and parcel of daily life. Something they should have been accustomed to by now. But the pain never subsided, and each day administration sent out countless notifications and preparations for the ones who have passed on.

Josh led the teams out himself. Being the captain like Chris is spared him from nothing. Top brass sent people out to pass the message individually. So apart from being on scene, he has his fair share dealing with families. He knows more than anyone the sort of sorrow he has tasted. Crippling fear grabbing hold of the ones living, and only the living knows how much suffering they have to endure to move on.

Yet to counter fear, one must only continue to hope for the best. Learn how to treasure every moment out there waiting in disguise.

He learnt that through Sheva.

Seeing her everyday waiting for him back at base, he cannot explain the amount of happiness he felt every time just seeing her there. It becomes recognition on its own. Moulding and changing each day, he discovered how much he needed her in his life. Soon what occurs only at work is taken outside of it, after hours and weekends. Overnights spent in each other's company become a routine like breathing air. And soon, the pain is forgiven.

Even though fear persisted, it becomes bearable.

"It's because we know how much is at stake, we should know it better than anyone else how much we should treasure each day of our lives. And what better way to do that other than to spend it with the one you love?"

Blushing at Josh's words, Sheva leans closer to him before she pulls his face to her for a quick kiss. Jill smiles at their affection, before taking a quick peek at Chris who looks down at the table. Yet before she could interrupt anything, he snaps out of his trance and smiles at the couple, weakly. The man has his point.

Chris is happy for them. But it is hard to ignore the uneasiness.

"We just don't want to live in regret," Sheva continues, "Love doesn't come by twice."

"I'm sure you guys know what you are doing. Better than some people who doesn't even have the guts to take the first step."

What Jill said came completely unexpected to Chris, who is naturally forced to look at the blonde at her audacity. A dig straight at him, at least that's what his sixth sense is telling him.

But still, an apology felt like it is needed, "I don't mean anything when I said that. It's just reflex but… I'm really happy for the both of you."

The couple accepts it graciously, though it is never needed in the first place. Sheva rests a hand over Josh's arm, who then rests his hand over hers. They don't see the apprehension between Chris' eyes and simply sinks in their own bliss. However such ignorance doesn't live for Jill. She pays good amount of attention at the captain, the man looking out the window of the cafeteria not noticing her. He takes those spoken words seriously to heart, digesting them thoroughly.

How to not live his life in regret is the only thing he wants to remedy immediately right now.

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts?"

There is a special allocation for the guests out of the camp. They are given the luxury of a hotel not thirty minutes drive away and the night has sent them on their way. Assistance is attached as usual, namely Piers and Carl are sent for the job to escort the African division out. They won't be back till late in the night after the evening event is over, and tomorrow they are first out to pick them up as well. However, in spite the plan, she remains behind with Chris, when her company has already left for the hotel.

And Chris notices that, "I'm fine. Aren't you leaving with the others? There's a reception for you guys prepared at the hotel."

"I'm not here to party." Jill replies sternly, the captain catches on her seriousness instantly, "We need to talk."

"What's there to talk about?" A rare sense of defiance could be heard trailing in his words.

"Paperwork. You've been late."

A sigh of relief in place, "I'll get them done." Maybe she's not trying to question about—

"Not once in the past four months have you been late on them but just weeks ago, you're back to Chris being the old Chris. What's going on?"

Or maybe she _does_. "Nothing's going on. I'll get them done. Give me a week."

Jill folds her arms, following Chris into his room as she shuts the door. "Has your alarm clock gone AWOL?"

"What alarm clock?"

"Don't play coy with me, Chris Redfield. What are you trying to do?" She means business all right.

"I'm just trying to do my job," Slumping onto his bed, Chris reaches for the cold cup of coffee sitting by his bedside, fingers pressing his temples exhaustingly. He empties the bitterness from the cup, shaking his head once, twice then sets it away.

"Your job is to help me make Piers Nivans a better man."

"Isn't he a better man now?" That is sound judgement from his observation at least.

"Well the man in front of me now isn't. So what the hell is going on?" Jill drags the chair from his desk and plants it before Chris, the man boring holes into the ground.

"Why does it matter? I got the job done."

"Because you're my best friend, Chris. You're someone I can depend on no matter what happens and I want to do the same for you." The captain notices the softness in her voice and it almost weakens his will to spill, but he couldn't. Even if he wanted to, he doesn't know where to start.

"Thanks, but there's really nothing going on."

Except this time when he looks up at the blonde, her eyes are furious. There is untamed fire showing.

"Goddammit Chris, I don't have time for your bullshit. You better tell me what's going on or I'll do the honors and tell you what the fuck is wrong with you."

Now that's a surprise, a good one in fact. Perhaps hearing someone else telling him what his problem is is a good idea after all especially since… he's not looking at the problem at all.

Chris scoffs, "Oh really? Maybe you wanna tell me what the fuck is wrong then."

The simplicity of an electronic mail can do wonders for a time like this. Recalling the contents of that mail she received days ago from Marco, she recites the details in her mind. Telling Chris details isn't the trick to it at all. It should cut him where it hurts most. So all she needs is a summary—one line that could bleed his thoughts out, one phrase to shut his exits tight. The only way to stop anyone running away from their problems, because she never thought Chris would be the coward he is right now.

_Hit the right spot. Snap him out._

"You can't accept the fact that Piers has fallen for you. You think it's a fucking joke, and still do."

His heart couldn't breathe. That was really _blunt_ coming from Jill.

"You think?"

"I don't. You do. You're the one putting yourself in this shit position right now."

He takes his time shifting himself on the bed a little. Clearly someone must have seen what happened that night and decided to send Jill a little message to let her lecture him on this. It suddenly becomes an obsession to find out who saw them, and Chris let his mind run through those four names over and over. He remembers Ben drunk flat on the table with Andy blacked out as well, that leaves only Marco and Carl. Recalling the scenario that night, he couldn't pinpoint if he could see their table from the dance floor when it all happened. Perhaps they could… perhaps they _did_.

"Chris," her voice finally penetrated his thoughts, "Why can't you take it?"

"Wh-what?"

"I mean what can't you just take it like a man and give him an answer?"

_Sounds easier said than done_, "And what answer do you suppose I should give him? We're both _men_."

"Either a _yes_… or a fucking _no_. How hard can that be? But judging from your actions, you could've have just given him a _yes_."

"You think it's so easy to rejec—wait a minute, did you just ask me to say a fucking _yes_?"

"Yes," Jill looks dead straight at him, "You kissed him, didn't you?"

"I did not," His defence firm, "_He did it first_."

Now she rolls her eyes, "Please, that's a pathetic excuse. Who kissed who first doesn't matter, the fact remains that you didn't push him away."

A pause, then followed by a speechless objection.

She takes the upper hand, "And that's as good as saying yes, Chris."

Then she takes his silence as consent before she continues, "But you just couldn't say it. Instead you fooled around with him and then freaked out when something happened, right?"

_I like you, Chris._

"Shut up." He mumbles.

"There's nothing wrong with him falling for you, or you for him."

"Shut up Jill…" His voice slightly louder than before.

"You need to acknowledge your own feelings, Chris. You feel something for him, don't you?"

"SHUT UP!" He screams in her face. "What the hell do you know? He's my subordinate and I'm his captain. This isn't right to begin with."

It is her turn to stay silent now.

"We have rules to follow. We have the code of conduct. We're soldiers with discipline."

He's right to some extend Jill feels, but not until he says those last three words.

"And… we're _men_."

And she's at her limit. Stomping her feet onto the floor, she raises a hand across his face. Hard and loud.

"GODDAMMIT CHRIS!" She roars, "For a minute I thought you're really concerned about those goddamn rules we pledged ourselves to but guess what? NO. You aren't. You're just fucking concerned about the fact that the both of you are guys. _Men._ And the fact that you're this superficial pisses the hell outta me."

"It's the fucking TRUTH, Jill. Can't you fucking see it?"

"Yeah I see it. But you know what else I see? I see a man in his own denial."

He looks away, cussing indiscriminately while Jill doesn't let it stop, "You didn't kiss him back because he had a cunt down there, did you?"

So all verbal decency is dropped at this moment Chris notices, but she has a strong defence, unfortunately against him. And most disgracefully, she's right when she said he wasn't thinking about him being a woman when he kissed him back. He really wasn't. It was his reflex reacting.

"I don't know what happened that night but whatever you did then wasn't because you thought he's a woman. You know exactly who you were holding that night, Chris." Her trigger finger points straight at him.

_He did._

"Stop it, Jill. Just… stop saying it… we— we can't do this."

"You like him. If you didn't, you would've just told him." She's very certain about this.

"We're… we're not the same…" Chris finds his stand shaking, the denial growing wider.

"Not the same as? Sheva and Josh? Is that what you're thinking all afternoon?"

Jill apparently knows Chris too well and he sometimes really hated it. This is one of those times.

"Haven't they taught you a valuable lesson this afternoon?"

Perhaps it's because they did that's why he's in such a tough dilemma right now.

Comparing the months he has spent with Piers and without him, Chris has to admit that things are going downhill. He wants to talk to the ace and he knows the ace wants to likewise. Even if things aren't going to work out the way Piers hoped for, he should've have cleared the mess up at least. He just needed that one opportunity to tell him he's sorry about what happened that night and that this isn't going to work out due to their job nature.

Chris knows the pain of losing someone important in his life, Jill taught him that.

And not knowing what might happened on each mission they partake, strands of any lingering emotions will only continue to hurt the one living most. He doesn't want Piers to feel that pain if they started anything. That sort of pain is unbearable, and almost lethal.

He has had more than a dozen chances, but not one he dared take to tell Piers his truthful thoughts.

Then this afternoon, seeing how blissful Sheva and Josh are treasuring one another in their lives, Chris started to have his doubts. They've been in the same line of work for years now, and they've experienced each treacherous moments together on and off field, much like what Chris has been through thus far. But all Sheva could hear is the radio whenever Josh is out with the military, her agent status forbids and stations her behind at base. Every moment could be their last each time Josh sets foot out on that field and each breath could be their last apart.

But despite the odds, they are willing to take this risk together. They would rather to have tried than never to have at all. It is a gamble they are willing to take, in the name of love. And this is the same risk for everyone on this planet regardless of their backgrounds, love is equal to all.

And safe to say at least if anything were to happen to him, he knows he could see Piers one last time if it was his dying breath. He has better luxury looking at it this way.

_We just don't want to live in regret._

"Not everyone in this world is lucky to find someone who loves them back." Jill's soft voice coaxes him back to reality.

_Love doesn't come by twice. _

"If you truly feel something for him, don't wait any longer."

"I don't know… I'm confused," and so he finally admits the truth, "And quite frankly, I don't know if I was scared or happy when I first heard it."

It never was about him being a man at all. It is and always has been Chris' own fear of acknowledging his own feelings.

Jill smiles, thankful her efforts are recognized alas, "Let me help you reaffirm your true feelings then, silly old bear."

Baffled, he stares at her blankly, words unable to form on their own. But if it's going to help him, then it's worth a try.

_It's worth a risk._

"Clive is going to talk to Piers tonight at the hotel. He's going to come to you after that. If you need him, you'll have the right answers when you see him."

* * *

The reception has been long. When it finally ends, the soldiers immediately escort the guests back to their respective rooms before they take the vehicle back to base. Piers and Marco send both Sheva and Josh back to their suite and bid the seniors good night. The other boys would soon be rendezvousing at the collection point and they intend to do so likewise.

"Gimme a moment, I gotta take a leak."

Piers cocks an eyebrow, "Really?"

Marco grins sheepishly, "Yeah, just gimme a sec. I'll be quick!"

Yet as soon as Piers sees Marco dashing for the lobby lavatory, he sees another famous celebrity of the B.S.A.A. walking towards him. He remembers this one, he's seen him in person back when he was first in Arizona.

One Clive O'Brian.

"Good evening, Sir." He salutes promptly.

"At ease, Nivans," Clive dismisses the regime, "Do you have a minute before you head back to base?"

"Yes Sir. I am waiting for my teammate's return."

The celebrity smiles, "Good chap."

Then tucking his hands into his pocket, he clears his throat, "I'll make this short. I understand you've been transferred to the European branch under undisclosed purposes. And as of the past few months, we have monitored your results and performances. You have clearly shown great improvement in building rapport with your teammates and they have equally gained your trust. Even Captain Redfield is nothing but praises with your assistance in his daily work. Well done, soldier."

That is certainly a boost to his confidence, but he keeps it to himself. Keeping his calmness in check, Piers receives the compliment with gratitude, "Thank you, Sir. Captain Redfield has guided me thoroughly. I owe it to him."

But that being said, they aren't in the best of situations right now, unbeknownst to the ex-director of the B.S.A.A..

Yet that may be about to change, unbeknownst to Chris and Piers individually.

"We currently have a position opened up in the Washington branch as Captain of the Bravo Team. We would like you to lead this team, Nivans."

* * *

_Ba-thum-thump!_


	15. Guide 14: Reason

**Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.**

* * *

_"I'm sorry that I hurt you_  
_It's something I must live with everyday_  
_And all the pain I put you through_  
_I wish that I could take it all away_  
_And be the one who catches all your tears_  
_Thats why I need you to hear_

_I've found a reason for me_  
_To change who I used to be_  
_A reason to start over new_  
_and the reason is You"  
— Hoobastank, The Reason_

"You sure you heard that?" This is the third cigarette he has stubbed out on the floor. Carl tucks his cold hands into his pants.

"Positive. I heard it like when I was a pillar away them. I didn't know they had such plans." Marco taps his feet rapidly on the ground, apprehension crowding his face.

"But aren't we all just getting used to one another as a team?" Ben stares blankly into the distance, just so happened to spot Foxtrot practicing their drills a field away in his direction. Grinning to himself, he lets his eyes follow the trail left behind by the girls in their regular routine.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with it though. It's a good opportunity after all." Nudging Marco to the edge of the bench, Andy squeezes onto the small space available making himself comfortable. The tech expert gives a questioning look at his teammate, before looking up into empty space again. Then his fingers fidget, before he brings his head down pressing his forehead into his thumbs and indexes.

This all started with Marco's little encounter back at the hotel lobby the night before.

And after finding out what has been offered, he couldn't wait to share this among his teammates, especially Carl. It's his little secret with the combat specialist after all. Truth be told, there is little they can do. This remains as another person's choice no matter how much they can discuss. In spite how difficult things had been in the beginning, the Alphans can't deny that their team is no longer just the four of them now. Five months may sound short, but to spend it every single day together, the experience feels longer than it actually is. It makes people feel like family, it builds the unit like one.

Piers is no doubt a member of their family now, like a bickering brother to Andy, a distant relative of Ben, a close cousin with Marco and a twin for Carl. And their captain is probably the father to them all. They are complete in that sense, even though it sounds weird to others.

But right now, they're taking him back. Perhaps because he's showing promising changes, signs showing he's ready for what he is meant for. It sounds really convincing that Command is finally giving what Piers deserves, but in plain words, they're just conveniently taking back what they've invested in.

It may even seem a little frustrating because the very ones putting Piers here are the same people who want him back. Not to mention, they are not giving their captain the heads up by going to the ace directly.

"I think the ace has a right to choose," Andy slaps his hand on his thighs, "We shouldn't interfere in this."

"I'm not suggesting that we should interfere anything, Andy. I just think they should've just gone straight to the captain to sort it out if they really wanted Piers back in D.C." Carl insists.

Marco continues to keep his silence. There's not much he could say in this scenario either. He kicks his feet against the floor a couple of times, his mind a blank slate. And when Ben is finally done ogling at the girls, he comes back to the guys with cool casualness.

"You guys worry too much you know that?"

Marco turns to Ben, "What?"

"I mean he's not a kid anymore. We should trust him."

"Ben's right, we need to lay off this whole thing. It's his decision, not ours." Straightening his legs, Andy lays back against the fence behind cracking his shoulders. He isn't actually giving any thought about this situation Marco brought up. In fact, he wonders why the tech expert even brought it up in the first place. It doesn't seem likely of him to be worried about something that doesn't exactly concern him.

That has to be expected of Andy however, since he doesn't know what Carl and Marco knew. Their concerns lay in the captain's aspect but of course, assuming that he doesn't know a thing about it.

"We're not trying to change anything, dammit. I mean, aren't you guys even curious why didn't Command go straight to the capin instead?" Annoyed, Marco gets up from his seat and paces around in small steps.

"Stop it, Marco." This time unexpectedly, it is Carl who steps in to stop him from continuing, "Andy's right. We're overreacting a little too much."

"But—"

"Is there something we don't know?" Out of sheer curiosity, Ben throws the mindless question out, "You guys sound like you know something but you're not telling us."

"It's nothing, Ben." Carl replies short, stepping out his fourth cigarette, "Marco and I are just going to check out on the captain then."

Marco looks at Carl in surprise, apparently unaware of the trip announced. Regardless however, he stands next to the specialist, waiting for him to make his move. Andy looks suspiciously at them, now in complete belief that they must have missed something out somewhere along their way.

"Really?" so he questions.

"Yeah, just checking out if he needs help."

That's a little unnatural coming from two people who seldom hung out in the captain's office. Almost forced, almost hiding something from the other two.

"Should we tag along? You know, Ben and I."

"We're just gonna be in and out in five. C'mon, Marco."

Watching them leave, Ben slides onto the empty seat previously belonging to Marco as he speaks aloud, "Are we being too cold?"

Don't get either one of them wrong, they are concerned about the ace. Piers has shown his effort to interact with them, played his part and tried to be involved as a team. In spite the little arguments Andy frequently finds himself in with the boy, he supposes that is the only way he could ever bond with the ace in their own way. Even for someone like Ben who rarely talks to him, he has found his own way to connect with the sniper, though most of the time, Piers is the one doing most of the listening. So in some ways, they aren't as distant as they seem.

They just have their own individual ways of expressing themselves.

"Kid's a gold star, remember? He's gonna make the right decision for himself."

Ben grins to himself, "A for Alpha."

* * *

They whisk through the stairs, keeping some distance with the same amount of silence. There isn't much going through their minds even after the short conversation they had with the other two. Of course they won't understand where their concerns are. This story goes way beyond their knowledge. It transcends their acceptance even perhaps.

Though, this probably should've only concerned two people to begin with.

"Are we overreacting a little too much back there?"

Carl looks up from the flight of stairs, "What?"

Marco mutters, "I mean they're right. This is kinda none of our business."

"We're not going to do anything, Marco. We're just gonna check how the captain is before Piers does anything."

They make a left turn together and hustle up the stairs on the third floor. One more level to go.

"Right. That's all we're gonna do. No more, no less."

That little comment tickles a funny bone inside Carl. A funny bone he first thought, until he gets reckless with it and lets it run vicious. He cocks an eye at the tech expert suspiciously, running a step ahead before he turns to stop his teammate.

"What are you worried about?"

"Carl, look. It's none of our business. The ace's got his rights."

"No, you look at this Marco," the specialist glares, unusual for his cool demeanor, "you listen carefully."

And that has caught Marco's full attention.

"We're the ones who brought them to this stage. We supported the idea, we lit the green. If Piers has been standing next to a cliff all this time, then we're that pair of hands that pushed him down. We don't just walk away from we've done, we must take responsibility."

"What are we supposed to do then? Tell the capin what we know? Tell the capin about Piers? We're in no position to do anything. Not even to tell Piers not to go."

And with that, Marco pushes past Carl as he moves up the stairs, coming to the office level. He hurries along the corridor with one Carl chasing behind him. The specialist is not amused, finding his way beside his other teammate until they walk side by side again. They pass by a couple of other officers and stop to salute them respectively. Yet despite seeing the captain's office within sight, it still feels far since the two soldiers continue to pick up where they left off earlier.

"It's not even my intention to stop him. I'm just worried about the captain."

That spurs a different reaction from the tech expert. "That he doesn't know."

"I can guarantee you he doesn't know a damn thing."

Marco's laugh sounds helpless, "You wanna tell him?"

"If Piers doesn't beat me to the punch," Carl grins however.

And the other companion is heard laughing softly along the corridor. When he finally settles his hand on the knob, he stares at Carl once before seeking a confirmation from his eyes. Honestly, he doesn't know what they are doing here, or what special plans the combat specialist has in mind. But he has to admit, he agrees that the captain deserves a right to know what's going on before the ace makes his move. What's good for either of them doesn't rely on the fact that one has already decided to move on without a try. It's all about fair play. They deserve to know everything.

"So, what's your plan?" Marco holds the door knob tightly in his hand.

"Soldier," Carl laughs, "There never was a plan. I bet on faith and luck."

But luck sure knows how to pick a good time to spoil the merriment. As soon as Marco knocks and turns into the room, the silhouette of another soldier welcomes their entry with a slight peek to his back. The captain looks to the door to see both soldiers crowding by his entrance, the look of shock plaguing them in open awareness. He immediately stops in between his conversation and turns his focus to the new visitors.

"Can I help you, soldiers?" Chris speaks loudly from his desk.

"No sir," Marco quips without hesitation, earning some look of surprise from Carl, "We didn't know you're busy. We'll be leaving now."

Yet before Chris could question any further, the boys are seen moving out as the door is pulled shut. Outside, they remain silent for a brief moment while their thoughts try to find one another. _Are we too late_ they wonder, already contemplating the worst case scenarios in this given situation. Sometimes, things just like to happen at the shittiest time ever.

So tucking his hands into his pocket, Carl sighs, "Guess we're too late."

"Or maybe too early," Marco lets out a teasing sigh. "Nothing we can do now. C'mon. It's their own problem as it is."

Nodding, "All up to the ace now."

* * *

Chris looks at the paper in his hand. Just another report. Not that it matters at this point with the person in front of him now. The air stills. No one says another word more. Or in this case, perhaps someone is waiting for someone to say something first. The captain sets the report down on his desk, ransacking his trays for another set of reports the ace believes, watching the old man getting grumpier by the minute he stands in this room. This isn't going to be easy as he thought.

He remembers the room at the back of his hand. Nothing's changed as he screens across it, it's still the same like the pain that has never lightened before.

And Chris knows Piers is observing his room. Every inch of detail and age, everything remains unchanged. Not even his table lamp moved.

Was it nostalgia or habitual? Piers doesn't want to bet the odds.

Because with desperate means they tried to avoid any direct eye contact with one another, to the point that the captain finds himself reading word for word at the report he just set down. He couldn't bear to look at Piers at such distance, they are after all but five feet apart. Only five miserable feet apart and it already felt like he can barely breathe. But here's the consolation, he's not the only one in the same shoes.

Yet unlike Chris, the ace takes the alternate route. Instead of letting his eyes runs elsewhere, he spends the entire time staring at his captain. The man's aged, not numerically in this instance but of course. He looks tired though not battered from the war, weary yet not piled from stress. Piers feels a twinge inside, how can a man change so much in just a month?

Then he remembers how much he has endured for the past month and took his concerns back. It takes two hands to clap. It certainly also took two people to meld pain to suffer together.

"This." Chris pauses, "This is definitely a great opportunity for you." _This isn't what you wanted to say, dammit._

The fact that he doesn't look up from the papers to speak to him hurts Piers a little. He thought the captain would be better capable than what he is pulling right now, but at the same time, he wonders why the officer is compelled by whatever he is feeling. Analytically reading the signs would give him hopes that he doesn't need right now, …not after what he has decided.

But that doesn't make him any less curious about the tense situation he has with the older man now.

He could've just said no… and all will straighten out on its own. The question is, _why didn't he?_

_Doesn't matter,_ Piers tells himself. _He's given me my blessing._

"Being elected to lead is a great honor. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

_That's his answer._

"You're a changed man. You'll do good for the B.S.A.A. back home."

_He doesn't need me here anymore._

And this time, Chris looks up from his desk, teeth gritting hard against one another beneath his lips. These are words he should say. These are the right things to tell the boy. From one captain to another, since the first day he told Jill, the boy is captain material in every sense that he sees. And after these five months, he's grown even more dependable than he ever was before. Piers is ready to take the role that he is meant to be. So if that is the case, he must set him free. Those clipped wings have healed, ready for the next part of his life journey.

Who was he to hold him back?

_You're doing good, keep going._ That's all Chris could tell himself. Any hesitation now may blow them into pieces. Shattered pieces, that is.

But still, there is one thing he couldn't shirk off his mind. He's going to need an answer to that, by hook or by crook.

"Y-yes sir…" Firm as it is, the words slipping past Piers' lips couldn't resist itself from trailing. Perhaps he was hoping for a little more than just 'all the best to you'. Then again, what else could he be hoping for?

Their relationship is strictly _professional_.

"Thank you for your guidance in these past few months, captain." Bite the bullet Piers says in his mind, but his rational side saves him from the shame before he could do so. This is definitely the better way out for the both of them.

This will save themselves from all those awkward moments they have been torturing each other with for the past month.

If there is anything Chris caught on, it's the slight tremble in Piers' voice when he said those last words. It might be meek, but it's there. And to realize it's there in the first place makes him clench his fist hard along the edges of the papers.

_Don't make me regret this. Don't, Piers._

"I'll ready the necessary documents for your transfer. You should go prepare yourself for tomorrow's take off with the branch reps. Should I inform the others on behalf?"

_Just go. I've no right to keep you here._

"No, sir." Piers is quick to stop the captain, "If it's okay, don't tell the others until I've left."

Why would Piers want to do that is a mystery to Chris but he accepts it without a blink of an eye. Maybe the ace wants to avoid the chatter that comes after the public awareness or maybe he just wants to leave as silently as he arrived. Five months may have been a short time as it sounds, but to people who have lived these months together, it's definitely feels much longer than it actually is. And as much as the boys may not want to admit it, Chris knows the team has really begun to function like one with everyone's involvement. Losing one of them is like losing a part of them, no matter how cheesy that sounded.

"Got it. Anything else?" He lets his attention wander back into the reports, not that he's reading anything of it. _Any time now, Piers._

"No sir," and Piers brings his stiff hand to his forehead, making his salute before he leaves. As he turns around to step out of the door, he turns back to the face he once loved smiling for one last time, "I mean it, captain."

It is this time when Chris looks up, the weak smile brandishing across the ace's face hurts his very soul.

"I really appreciate everything you've done for me. Goodbye."

As the door closes, Chris slaps the report onto his desk. He musses his fringe while grabbing his forehead tight. Hissing hard, his heart feels like it's been smashed hard against a wall and ran over by a bus. Bruised and clearly mistaken for.

He's not fucked up anything this time so, then why the hell does it feel like it has been?

_Why do you make me feel this way?_

* * *

"Why wasn't I made known of this?" Eighteen hours to countdown.

"This is Command's choice, Chris. I'm just delivering the order." Eighteen hours to the end of the European Branch's welcome party.

"Yeah going behind my back with courtesy that's for sure." He throws the cigarette on the ground, wetting it in melted snow.

"What's the diff? This is his decision, not yours." Clive is bemused, after stepping out to take this call in midst of their conference.

His fingers flick the lighter cap incessantly. His thumb clicks the starter, his eyes watch the flame then his fingers shuts it out again. Clive sounds confident in his game, and that's wearing Chris out of patience.

"The decision doesn't matter. What I want to know is why wasn't I given the heads up? I'm his officer in command. I deserve the right to know."

Clive chaffs, "Chris. You're his _acting_ officer in command. Piers Nivans was never meant to stay here in the first place."

"So this is how it goes, huh? We say mission accomplish and go back to our separate lives?"

"It's nothing personal, captain," says the North American representative, "and I intend to keep it that way."

One last swing of the case, he catches the lighter tight in his palm and gets off the wall he leans against. Lesson taught, lesson learnt and lesson always to be remembered. This is how Command works, they don't give two pennies for human relationship. But unfortunately for them, Chris has a penchant for bonds. Always.

"Fuck your protocols, Clive." And he hangs up without a single doubt.

* * *

There are no last words.

No last trainings, practices or drills to be called into. There is no one in the bunk except for him. And alone in the silence he sits, looking around all corners of the room, remembering tiniest memories he has shared with the others whom he has come to call teammates. He can almost hear the laughter they once shared in his ears as always and this is turning out to be as close as a deal breaker as it can get.

Piers stuffs the clothing into his haversack. There are no more regrets.

He looks at his hands, red calluses forming along his palm from target practice earlier. He shot ten magazines, twenty blank targets and came back with hands burnt numb from the intense grip he forced onto the rifle from recoiling. And he rubs those heated finger pads along the coolness of the steel table he prepares his baggage on. If only he knows how to explain the feelings boiling inside. If only he could be brave and admit how much they are hurting him.

"So this is how it ends… I guess."

His mumbles are so soft that they don't reverberate in the room.

He doesn't go back into the past no more. What happens back in London stays in London. Piers is a straightforward man. He envisions himself as one. He's given four weeks to make it count but how is he going to work it out with someone who has completely shut him out? There wasn't even a chance to remedy it.

Yet as unfair as that sounds, he never once blamed the captain for it.

His idea of a confession was never to throw himself at him like this in the first place. Nor did he ever imagine the day that he would have the courage to confess to him to begin with.

"What… a mess." Piers sighs in helpless fashion, smiles in tragic hope.

Then again, it doesn't matter anymore. No one needs to clean up this mess anymore.

Just twelve hours to a brand new start ahead.

* * *

It's a rare sight to see the captain cleaning up his desk. Not the usual chucking papers in any available tray in his desperation to look neat, but a real attempt to tidy the shit splaying around up.

He walks around his office, rounding up all the sparsely-spread files and folders back on his desk before he comes back to his seat. These are left untouched ever since Piers stopped coming in and Chris thought this would be a perfect time to set things straight.

_When are you ever going to clear this mess up, captain?_

Was it his imagination?

He believes he heard someone said that out loud like the person's standing right next to him.

No one's there.

He scratches the back of his head, the other free hand running through the folders neatly labeled with their territorial code names.

_Are you never going to sort any of these reports at all? I bet you've got some superhuman memory that I don't know of in that case. Oh wait, you don't._

_What was that again?_ Chris shakes himself up. It's late. It's eleven.

So he reaches for the cup of coffee resting underneath his lamp. He missed the sugar from the dispenser. When did he start drinking coffee black and empty like this?

When did he start living his life in an empty black hole like this?

How did everything turn into the mess it is?

And in his carelessness, he breaks the rim of the styrofoam cup in his hand slightly. The dark liquid spills from the crack and touches his pants, stirring him into shock unprepared. He places the cup further in on his desk to its original place, where he then subconsciously catches attention of the crumpled piece of paper still there.

Why didn't he throw it away?

Why didn't he throw that away when he's thrown someone else's feelings away?

_If you need him, you'll have the right answers when you see him._

But he didn't. Does that mean he doesn't need him as much as Jill thought he does?

_I told him to go for his own good_, Chris reminds his other self. _I said that because I know it's what he wants. Recognition._

_You're the one putting yourself in this shit position right now._

And who was he to deny what Jill said is right? This dilemma stuck in his throat, this irritating bile of hesitation holding him back. Hadn't he resolve his own confusion with Jill? Why did he leap right back into the void again?

_It's for his own good,_ Chris holds onto his rationality strongly.

"I'm just doing my job. My job was to make Piers Nivans a better man." Chris mutters.

But if it's just a job, why did he flare up at Clive? The man is taking Piers back because he got his job well done. And Chris should be proud that he has nurtured another capable captain in line for the B.S.A.A. leadership. He knows he should be. He really knows that he should be.

So why isn't he?

_I see a man in his own denial._

Jill Valentine can be such a spot on. Her words bit him so hard in the ass that he gets up from his seat. That denial she spoke of rattles his core. Reason being she is looking at the wrong thing on Chris. She thought it's just Chris in denial to Piers' feelings, but she's wrong. He isn't deaf that night. Those spoken words seared into his body like a brand on his skin.

_I like you, Chris._

And to repress the truth, he denies it like it doesn't matter to him.

When it did.

It matters so much that Chris had to repress his feelings thinking it's not real. He thought that's what he should do, for the fear of messing the professional relationship they had then. As a result, it disappears into his abyss of confusion. The true reason is then lost in the tides, and all else took its place like nature on its own. It is never brought up again since it is non-existent, it becomes forgotten because it's never reminded of.

Until now.

Because Chris is clearing up the mess he single-handedly brought into this very room, because he is done seeing the mess as it is.

_You know exactly who you were holding that night, Chris. _

"… I do."

He throws the coffee into the bin before rushing out of his office. Eight hours to daybreak.

Coffee is never the same without that cube of sugar.

* * *

What makes Piers wander in the darkness to where he is now is rather a mystery unsolved, not that he is about to complain. Looking around his surroundings, if there is one place that gave him fondest memories other than the practice range, it's definitely here.

He walks through melted snow easily, trudging over soft ground across the field. It remembers it like yesterday, except it's another person in his current place and he waited near the lamppost in the near distance then. And that person was running towards him in all smiles and vigor.

That was a beautiful day.

One for the books—one that would never be forgotten down memory lane.

Section one outpost is located in such a way that nobody will ever come near it unless they are about to leave the camp. But Piers isn't about to leave the camp, at least not for the next seven hours.

This reminiscence is so bitter sweet that he has to come back here for the last time. He shared the most beautiful memory in this very place. So beautiful that it hurts to remember, so precious that it bleeds to hold onto it.

It is the perfect end to Lincoln. Right beneath this night sky that has cleared from the winter mist. Piers smiles weakly looking up at it, spots a single star shinning in the pitch black, its distance as far apart as his from his beloved captain. A fate he has accepted. This end is what he asked for.

The perfect end he supposes.

Yet in spite how bitter his heart feels his tears don't fall. It just continuously stacks up like wooden blocks in a children's game, shaking at the bottom of it after carrying a weight beyond its capacity, waiting for the right chance to topple. Waiting for the moment to give itself up.

It's been twelve hours since he's given up. But why isn't it giving up?

What is it still hoping for?

_I gave it up. I gave it up because it's best for us—_

"Piers—!"

In the distant light he notices a silhouette approaching him. _It can't be him._ His frail heart can't take any more of this. It's only just seven more hours to a better tomorrow.

As the shadow crosses under the lamppost, it stops to catch its breath before regaining its composure. Piers isn't expecting any of this. He doesn't know how much more he can take under this pressure.

Since, he doesn't know how much more he can last before he breaks into pieces.

"C-captain?" He asks plausibly, walking towards the light and stops before coming into it. It already hurts so much just to look at his face again.

When the captain regains his breath, he straightens his back before pacing towards the ace. He looks at the boy hiding in the mellow darkness, apparently not coming any further in from where he is standing. So he stands along the edge of the light casting, making sure he doesn't cross into Piers' boundaries, telling himself he shouldn't go beyond this fragile line separating them until he's cleared this mess up.

Not until he clears himself up.

"Piers," he repeats again. If it isn't his aging eyes playing tricks on him, he's worried that he's not looking at the ace as he speaks to him.

"…I'm here."

And that response is all he needs to follow to its source. Making a fraction of a turn, he scrutinizes hard before he finally affixes where the ace is standing. A secondary affirmation when he spots the light shinning at the tip of one of the boy's boots.

Yet when he is finally given the chance to speak, Chris is at a loss for words. In his eager search for Piers prior to this, he hasn't planned any speech for this. He only told himself he needed to see Piers again. He needed to say what he left unspoken. But what had he wanted to say was completely left out of his mind, so much so that he now stands at crossroads in all shame. Not being able to see Piers then didn't hurt as much as it did now. Chris is hopelessly staring at a face he couldn't see, without words that he hopes he could say to salvage this.

Whereas Piers only continues to watch his captain in his own silence, this may very well be his last chance to see him in forever.

He has no more words for Chris as his captain. What he is left with are words he knows that cannot be spoken of ever again.

"Piers I—" the cat got his tongue again.

Piers wanted to tell the captain it's okay to not try anymore. There's no need to do this. He wants to spare the officer from this experience he is having. But in all honesty, this is him telling himself he doesn't want to hear any more kind words the captain has to offer him. This is not kindness in the way he wants. The more condolences there are, the more it is going to break him.

If there is any mercy left, Piers begs in his heart for Chris to go this very minute.

But what is left in Chris is no longer mercy. They are vile words ready to lash out at the ace, because he is no longer in the capacity to care for anything else in this last seven hours.

"I'm sorry."

That was the last thing Piers ever wanted to hear. Guilt was the last thing Piers ever wanted to have a taste of on the menu.

Or was it sympathy? Neither of them is what he needed, as if he didn't look pathetic enough.

"I took advantage of you that night."

_God, no more. _His feet feels ready to flee from Chris. _Stop it, captain._

"I should've stopped myself from doing what I had done."

Piers struggles taking deep breaths silently. Apology at a time like this only made Piers look like a fool. And he doesn't need to be told that he's one when he already knows it. It feels like cold water splashed onto his face for his lack of awareness to his humiliation, which is he perfectly aware of. As though the past month of silent torture wasn't clear enough that the captain is repelled by it, he decides to make it known to the ace that he is sorry that he even let it happen.

And this to Piers is the biggest insult of them all.

His heart hurts so much, but it's dry from the tears buried inside. This pain churning from an endless pit of sorrow continues to slice him up. There are no more words left to say anymore Piers tells himself, Chris made sure of it.

Such that his body trembles from this feeling of being abandoned, his mind begins to shut down from the world he once shared with the captain.

"But I didn't. I'm sorry."

_If my forgiveness is what you need, will you take it and leave me be?_

"I'm sorry… that I lied."

Somehow, Piers manages to catch that just right before he decides to seal his heart cold. He then finds Chris looking at the ground, taking a brief moment to himself as though he is searching for something to say.

When he looks up this time, his eyes are determined like Piers has not seen in a long time.

"I should've said this a long time ago," his words come slow but clear, "… but I never meant to lie to you."

_What—?_ The ace tries to contain his shock. He doesn't know what his captain is trying to imply.

"All this time while I've been lying to you… I've been lying to myself too."

And he holds the pieces chipped off from his heart in his hands, not sure if he should tell the captain to stop or keep going.

Chris fumbles with himself, he knows he wants to do it right no matter what final answer the ace has for him. He's only got one shot at this, since he's blown up all the others in his self-defense.

One shot to make it right. One chance to make it count.

"I… I've been confused all this time. And in my confusion, I let myself lose sight of that one thing that matters most to me. I shouldn't have deceived myself into believing that it didn't happen when it did. I shouldn't have turned a blind eye to it. I shouldn't have… ignored it."

Getting no response back, the captain pulls himself together, "In the midst of all that ignorance I put myself in, I've hurt the one thing I've never wanted to hurt all my life."

Words start to tremble from his lips, "… …I fucked up."

Shaking, "I seriously messed the fuck up."

Piers couldn't breathe. A tight constriction cutting off his instinct to breathe. There's no point in telling himself that this isn't happening because it is. He is desperate to push the captain to say his mind, but he doesn't. He purses his lips tight for the fear of letting any sound out and breaking the momentum, he wants to know everything. Other than the fact that he worries his voice might give his emotions away unintended.

"If there's anything I could do right now to fix everything we had, I would give any and everything for it. Because I screwed up so bad, I never wanted this to happen to us."

_What is he trying to say…? _The remorse in Chris' words is so sharp that it's impossible for the ace to ignore it.

"I just thought it's best for us to keep our relationship professional because it's the right thing to do."

_Chris… what do you want with me? Why do you say all this now…?_

"But I should've known this isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I wanted for us at all."

The captain's beating about the bush is driving Piers up the wall. He has waited for a month for these words, yet suddenly at the mercy of them, the ace isn't sure what he is looking for in them. He holds the shards in his hands close to his heart, an unwanted feeling of getting hopeful in this aftermath, in spite knowing the bigger the devastation will become in the events if it goes wrong in the end.

But he willingly lets himself pin onto that hope again. Anything for the captain, any chance to be… _with the captain._

"I wanted us to be more than that."

Chris takes a pause. Even his old heart isn't keeping up with his own words. His thoughts are completely incoherent, messy and dangling along the edges without an ounce of collection. He's just going with his gut, throwing out everything that his mind tells him to say. It's not in his capacity to work out his thoughts like a composition ready to be narrated off a piece of paper, Chris is known to be brute for a reason. But if there's anything he is, he's honest when he wants to be. So despite his worry for the lack of better choice of words, at least he knows the ace is still there. Which means… at least he's doing something right.

"I think about the first time we went out together," and he continues, tender thoughts filling his mind, "I remember warm lemon tea with three teaspoons of syrup."

Piers feels his heart stop for a moment.

"I remember the first time I touched your hand."

He feels his eyes watered.

"I remember your warmth in my arms the first time I held you crying."

His heart beats so hard it's almost painful to breathe.

"I remember the first gift I wanted to get for someone so badly in a long time."

_Please, Chris… …say it, tell me._

"I remember the first time when I saw that beautiful smile… …"

This time Chris steps into the shadow, hand reaching out to the other pair, holding it firmly before he pulls the person along into his light. A heavy glow of redness flushed across the ace's cheeks as he holds him in place before him, hand still connected to his. And Chris smiles gently at the face he realized he has missed so much, the ace's face wet from tears streaming down the sides, and the bare essence of his pride trying to stay in composure in spite so.

Just like the ace he knows.

"… …and how I fell in love with it."

And that completely caught Piers off guard for his heart whimpers at those last eight words. At this point, the ace is lost for words. He's gone from giving up to having a second chance in this short amount of time that he doesn't know what to do with it. A part of him wants to believe that this is really happening and this might really work the way he envisions yet another screams at him, warning him that life is not a bed of roses. A risk that's worth his gamble, or not.

But here Chris is, holding his hand, making a confession he never dares dream of him making right in front of him.

Isn't this what he's hoped for?

"C-Chris…" and he could only mutter his name helplessly.

_This is more than what I've ever wanted._

Not to mention Chris knows exactly what still needs to be said. Some things are better said the old-fashioned way.

"But I'm not saying this to hold you back from this promotion. You're a brilliant soldier, Piers. And since the first day I've met you, I know you're destined to lead. This opportunity is hard to come by, …so I think you should go. In fact, I want you to go. But at least before you leave, I want to clear this up between us… especially since I was told that we should never live our lives in regret."

Then he catches Piers' attention by gently intertwining his fingers in between the ace's, hooking them together lightly. Instinctively, the tender strokes from his thumb continue to nurse affection on Piers.

That made Piers gush five shades deeper.

"So I have to tell you my lies first… and then my truth."

_If you truly feel something for him, don't wait any longer._

"I've fallen for you, Piers."

Despite in Piers' defense to remain calm and stoic, he's unable to for he finds himself pressing his free hand over his lips, swallowing the soft whimpers escaping from it. This is too much to bear at one go, but so much better than the pain he's already tasted before. This is bliss after sorrow, something Piers never knew existed. It's more than what happiness and elation can offer, it's something so fragile that he doesn't dare let it slip off his hands, something he knows he will give it all to protect with all his life.

Yet watching those tears rolling off Piers' reddened cheeks, Chris could only pull the boy into his embrace. He doesn't say anymore, clearly in realization that he's probably done the most embarrassing thing in his entire life. Yet it's all worth it to see Piers in his arms again, feeling like the ace has finally come back into his life once more. He runs his fingers through the back of Piers' hair, peeking at him from the corner of his eyes where the boy buries his face deep into his shoulders.

The silence embraces them quietly. This is the perfect end.

"B-but…" a soft voice then mumbles from his crook. Chris then lets the ace have his space, the tilt of his face embellishes beauty like the first time he's known it.

"Hmmm?" Chris hymns.

"I'm still leaving later…" Piers collects himself after finding strength in his voice.

"This is what's best for you, Piers. Never it is my intention to stop you." Chris smiles as he places a hand firmly on his shoulders. "We'll stay in touch."

The captain's right, though it's hard to shake the unwanted feeling that when things are finally panning out right, they're parting. So Piers doesn't fight it. It's definitely true that a second opportunity may not waltz by him as timely as this. He has to make it count. They have a future to fight for and more.

A future not only for the civilians of the world, but for them as well.

"Besides…"

He looks up at Chris in surprise, the trailing sounds a little suspicious.

And Chris further proves it when he grins at it, "If you don't like it there, I can always pay Clive a visit of course. I owe him some _favors_ after all."

Piers breaks into an uncontrolled chuckle at his captain's sudden cheekiness, it totally caught him out of nowhere, "Really?"

"Yes, really. You should put a little more faith in your captain."

Before anyone can think of a rebuttal to that, both of them laugh at Chris' weak stance. They know how true and untrue that can get at times, subjectively most of the time in fact. And immediately after, the captain skirts his eyes around the perimeter to find them completely isolated since it's after all past midnight. So in a swift action, he walks Piers a couple of steps back into the dark and out of the light. Bringing an arm to his lower waist, he draws in close to the ace who tries to figure out what his captain has in mind.

"This'll be a very good time for you to start putting some faith in me."

Piers gasps in curiosity, "I'm not quite sure what you mean, Captain."

So Chris shows it. He takes away their playful humor in an instance and lean towards the ace, closing their lips together softly for the first time at the start of their…

"In this," Chris breathes in between their tender kiss, "… in our relationship."

Piers smiles at the idea of it, "I guess I can learn to get used to it once you've proven it."

And the last of winter's breeze fades away completely into the official start of Spring on their calendar in their silent night.

* * *

_So I decided to put my notes at the end because I know this is the long awaited chapter as it is. As always, I'm so grateful for the reviews despite my long disappearance. Work's been... unforgiving, but hopefully the slight change will give me more luxury to write. My life relates to work about 75% of the time unfortunately... so, I really want to thank all of you for your patience with me._

_Quite honestly, I feel like I've built up so much tension to this point that I'm in perpetual fear that I mess everything up in this chapter. I really wanted to sink the feelings in but... I'm not sure if I managed to actually. I try my damnedest hard to keep everyone in the character as we know, and I just hope it feels as natural to all you readers out there as it manages to feel on me._

_And if anyone is upset that I decided to go for the cheerful end instead of the emotional kind, it's because this feels most natural to me after I placed myself in a thirty-odd year-old man's shoes. And not to mention, men aren't the expressive emotional creature like women are. _

_I guess... yeah this is it. The big break before the honeymoon begins I suppose? I aim to please as always. So feel free to let me know your thoughts on this! It means a great deal to me to know if I've patched or broken any hearts. _


End file.
